Hourglass
by Taila-Tai
Summary: Afghanistan had been a pivotal moment. Tony had found his reason for being, had found a new calling, and he'd found the one person who gave his now metal heart hope. Then he'd lost her forever, almost without ever really having her at all. Now, with more years on his belt and his mind butchered by nightmares - the truth is finally bought to light. Maybe forever was the wrong word?
1. Prologue

_Her teeth worked at her lower lip, chewing the flesh nervously. "Tony, we can't, we… we're going to need more time."_

 _At the words, his brown eyes flickered away from the constrictive suit, clashing with the pale colour only inches away. As close as he was to her, sharing the air she breathed, he could see the frightened gleam behind the concern. He could see the way she quickly tried to hide it behind a watery smile, and it made his chest tighten uncomfortably._

 _There was nothing he could say to make her really smile for him. Nothing he could say that would light up the darker shades of her eyes with content. The irony of it all almost made him laugh out loud – since when did he run out of clever comments?_

 _With a numb smile, Tony gave a mute nod._

 _The unusual shade of green – or was it blue, even with all his genius he could never tell – snapped across the room. "Yinsen," she called out, hands lifting and wringing together. "We're not going to make it. It's powering up too slowly."_

 _The older male hesitated at her voice, eyes flickering between the genius in the metal suit and biologist standing uselessly in the empty space around it. Yinsen had barely paused for a second before his face brightened in purpose, a smile tugging at his lips. "Stay here," he instructed firmly, leaning over to whisper in the woman's ear. "You stay safe for me, yeah?"_

 _Feminine features contorted in pain as the man pulled back, planting a sound kiss on her cheek. Tony waited for the man to face him, but he never did, the elder instead spinning on his heel and walking towards the entrance of their little home away from home._

" _Yinsen, where are you going?" Tony frowned, unable to turn his head and follow the older man. "Where are you – where is he going?" he demanded, directing the question to the beauty hovering before him._

 _She looked back helplessly as his words were answered, thundering screams of gunfire and loud yelling echoing around them. He wanted to cover his ears, to block out the noise and chant that if he couldn't hear it or see it, then it wasn't happening. That if he didn't acknowledge that the man had run from the room, then the man wasn't bleeding, but instead safe in the shadows across from him._

 _The logic had worked when he was a child – it couldn't fail him now._

 _Through the hellishly long seconds, he saw her lips move to create words he couldn't hear over the pounding of his heart. As the screaming died down, her voice started to carry over to him, making him realise he was ripping against the iron bonds. " – to stop moving! Tony, please!" A delicate hand pressed against his chest, hiding the blue light for a few seconds. "You need this; you need to get out of here and this suit? This suit is your ticket."_

 _Tony shook his head, trying to clear his mind at the same time. "This is our ticket, Quinn," he stressed. "Ours."_

 _The woman smiled back, the curve lacking its usual genuine edge even as she nodded her head in agreement. Her lips parted, throat moving as she started to reply, before more tortuous voices sounded from the hallway, the suit beginning to rumble as though it detected the threat. The previously bright eyes dulled in confusion as they both moved to look over her shoulder, taking in the computer screen and the percentage flashing across it._

 _Hopelessly, she looked back to meet brown eyes. "Tony…"_

" _Hide," he commanded urgently, gesturing to the darkened corners of the room. "Come on, go! Follow when I've cleared the check-points. Just like we talked about, remember? Just like we talked about."_

 _Quinn sucked her lower lip in between her teeth. "Just like we talked about…" she whispered, hurrying away and searching the room for a place to hide._

 _He tried to follow her with his eyes, to watch and make sure she was safe, but the lights went wild. They flickered and dimmed spastically, blocking his view of chocolate brown locks and slim shoulders. Between one flash of light and the next, he lost her to the shadowy corners of the room. "Hide," he whispered, closing his eyes as the voices reached them, and the scent of smoke became sickening. There were more bullets, more flashing lights as the idiots shot into the room, and he prayed to whatever entity would listen. "Don't let her get hurt, you son of a bitch, don't you dare…"_

 _As the man took in a shuddering breath, the suit moved with him, whirling to life._

 _The clomping footsteps echoed, almost louder than the gunshots as he moved towards the door, one hand lifted. "Quinn!" he shouted, barely acknowledging the men gathering to enter their prison. "Follow when it's safe."_

 _The previously raised arm spewed out gun fire, provoking screams from the terrorist group flunkies that had gathered outside the darkness. With the sounds, he moved forward, reaching back his free hand to deliver a powerful punch to a wayward body. He kept walking, attention torn, not bothering to stop and watch as they flew backwards into a stone wall._

 _Because if he stopped, Tony knew he would hear bones crack or skin tear under the pressure of bullets. He knew he'd hear the muffled cries of pain the men were letting out. He knew he'd wonder if the woman could hear him murdering dozens…_

 _Shaking his head, he moved as hurriedly as heavy metal would allow, stumbling into a brighter and larger area than the halls he'd been tearing apart. A man went screaming by, gun lost somewhere in the past, and the genius watched him run; eyes trailing after the fleeing figure before they fell on another._

" _Yinsen!"_

 _The man managed to let out a weak warning, one hand fluttering uselessly in the air. "Look out…"_

 _The billionaire stopped just in time to avoid what would've been a well-aimed missile, the projectile instead whistling past his head and crashing into the stone behind it. The metal monster turned as rubble exploded into being behind him, his own fist lifting to deploy a counter attack._

 _Tony waited for the man to dare show his face again, but the burning rack of ammo he'd shot didn't move. "Yinsen?" he clumsily stumbled to the man's side, trying to avoid falling to his knees. "Come on, we've got to go. Move for me, come on. We got a plan, we're gonna stick to it," he rambled breathlessly, eyes searching for the source of the blood littering his shirt._

 _Yinsen somehow cracked a short smile. "This was always the plan, Stark…"_

 _Whatever hope had been curling in the man's chest died with those words, brown irises refusing to look up into knowing eyes. "Come on," Tony tried instead, pretending he hadn't heard a peep. "You're going to see your family again. Get up."_

" _My family is dead." The soft whisper was almost ethereal already, and absently the billionaire praised the metal mask and its ability to hide the tears gnawing at his eyes. "I'm going to see them now, Stark," Yinsen continued, his always focused and attentive features slackening._

 _Tony tried to speak, to open his mouth, to apologize, to say something…_

" _It's okay," Yinsen reassured with a barely there smile. "I want this. But you – you get Quinn out of here, Stark," he commanded, the firm words still sounding dangerously like whispers. "She's too pure to die here in the dirt like me. You get her… you get her out… you…"_

 _The metal head slumped at the same time the body did, a small sound suspiciously like a sob leaving its teeth. "Damn it," Tony murmured, stretching out to his full height as he swallowed back sorrow. His fists clenched as movement flashed in the corner of his blurred vision, and he turned with a lifted hand, ready to let out the anger burning in his chest._

" _Tony!"_

 _The small voice drained the fury better than blood would've, and the hand slipped back to collide with an iron side. "Quinn," Tony nodded, stepping back as the tiny body pushed out of the shadows. "Yinsen, he… I tried too…"_

 _As the man tried to clear his head, to eliminate the lingering pain, the woman staggered closer. "Oh god, please no…"_

" _You need to stay here," Tony instructed, biting back his emotions as he watched her hesitantly pick up a cold hand. "I'm going to stick to the plan, and – and I'm going to clear a path. I'll do as much as I can, and when there's a way out; I don't wanna see you pause okay? You take it. I'll follow you, and even if something stops me, there are people looking for me and…" he tried for a smile, and was almost pleased the iron mask hid his failure from her. "I promise you'll be safe."_

 _Quinn turned to watch the suit move, the absent whirling quiet compared to her own heart. "I know, and I believe you," she allowed, giving him nothing more as she focused back on the body by her side. "Please be safe."_

 _With a determined nod, the genius stormed to the cave entrance, not even hesitating as he moved into the daylight. The other men outside, with their weapons and ill will only stared before releasing hell on the metal suit in their midst, screaming as they let loose everything they had._

 _Tony, protected within the belly of the beast, found he almost wanted to chuckle when the bullets bounced away. "My turn…" he decided after a few seconds, bored of the new game as he lifted both his hands. Instead of letting go of more ammo however, he moved to his other option, feeling almost gleeful as he watched the flames rip away from his gauntlets._

 _He ignored their screams – apparently burning hurt, who would've thought? – and instead turned and lit up everything burnable within reach, tearing their base of operations down as much as he could. The men scattered at the sight of orange and red, their tails between their legs as they ran to hide within stone that wouldn't and couldn't burn down._

 _The reprieve and apparent surrender didn't last long however, and soon the pressure of bullets was bearing down on the suit again._

" _Tony! No – look out!"_

 _The garbled and desperate voice made the man turn in horror, narrowly avoiding the heavy artillery of a tank as it fired at him through the flames. It took him less than a second to return in kind, to watch the machine blow upwards into the sky before he was spinning towards the woman. She was shielding her eyes from the fire fight, features twisted in displeasure and absently he remembered that she wasn't meant to be there._

 _She needed to get back inside._

 _Tony stumbled as he moved towards her, the warning hanging on his tongue when the bullet came, seemingly out of nowhere._

 _And he watched, his heart dropping ten feet to hell, as she clutched her stomach and fell backwards against the stone wall. Wide crystalline eyes looked up in shock, disbelieving even as they reflected the crimson pouring out to stain her once white tank top. He took a step forward – the wound wasn't fatal, not if he got to her in time – and then spasmed when another bullet hit her with a bruising intensity, slamming her shoulder back._

 _By the time he found it in himself to step forward, one hand reaching out for her, the third bullet exploded in his ears and her pained scream bounced from the cave walls._

" _Quinn!"_


	2. War

Tony couldn't do anything more than scream.

He didn't bother trying not to, he'd learnt fighting helped no one, but he tried to _hide_ it – smothering his face into the nearest pillow, and tangling his legs in the covers. He could feel an ache in his chest as he panted through the aftershocks, something that burnt in the lines of the metal branding him like cattle, but he'd felt worse before. The ghosting agony was nothing compared to those first days in the cave.

Tony smothered a whimper into the cotton of his shirt. He had to check, he had to _know_ it was still there because there was a little voice whispering that it wasn't. He knew it was irrational, he knew it was stupid, he knew he wouldn't be breathing if it wasn't there but…

His fingers curled around the edges of the reactor.

Letting out a gusty sigh, he wiped the damp from his brow. "Goddamn it," Tony breathed, swallowing down against a more creative curse word. He'd been scolded enough by the team leader about his language as it was, he didn't need another lecture. "Quinn, I'm sorry…"

Despite the almost violent nature of the dream, he couldn't quite find the strength to call it a nightmare. He'd had _real_ nightmares before – dreams that left him shaking and quivering hours after he'd woken, ones that made him sick to his stomach and pain pound behind his eyes. He _knew_ what a nightmare was, and she wasn't one. Sure, maybe later today he'd see blood staining his hands, maybe he'd feel panic settle in his lungs, but it would be worth it.

It would be worth it because those nightmares, those terrifying memories… They were all he had left of her, all he had left to prove that there was _something_ beating behind the blue light of his arc reactor. He needed them.

" _Sir, are you well? Do you require assistance?"_

The proper voice made the genius let out a breath, shoulders trembling with the effort it took to hold up his weight. "No, no I was – yeah I'm fine, Jay," he managed, shaking his head when it snorted at the lie. "I thought I was – actually, never mind."

Jarvis hummed. _"Ah, a bad dream then, sir?"_ he continued, the turns to his voice seemingly cooing in comfort. _"Do you want me to alert the others?"_

Tony's trembling slowed, body distracted as his mind considered the option for little more than a second before dismissing it. He wasn't some pansy hanging from the top of a building in a pressed suit, or a buxom woman needing someone super to save her from the leering bad guy. He was the infamous _man of iron_. He bedded a different beauty every night, gave money to a different charity every day, and invented life changing things when he was bored.

He was Tony Stark. He didn't need _help_ – mental or otherwise.

"No, leave the poor bastards alone. God knows they need their beauty sleep more than I do," he murmured, shifting to splay out over the empty expanse of mattress. From his new position, he could see the holographic display beside his bed, taking in the time with a barely concealed groan. It was early – too early to get up and start the day, but too late to get any more decent sleep. "Hey, Jay? Do me a favour…"

He didn't even need to finish the sentence, the darkened windows lining his room lighting up to reveal the city beyond them. It was still somewhat tainted by the moonlight, proving he'd been right in thinking it was too early to start living, but there was light growing behind the skyscrapers. The promise of sun.

And if the sun was – wait, people went jogging about this time, didn't they? Early so they could cram it in before their workday and – and was he actually considering physical exercise? As in, shorts and a tank top as he pounded down the pavement? Good god.

"Jay, make a note – I might need to get my brain scanned," Tony mused, pursing his lips as he noted a light flicking on in one of the neighbouring buildings. It was the ugly skyscraper his competitor had erected right before his own, and instantly he snorted, hating whoever was hiding behind that flash of orange. "Just to check for any defects or whatever. Remind me to ask Brucie to do it."

" _Sir? I do believe you said it was only a nightmare?"_

Tony pulled a face. "It was," he brushed aside. "But I was just considering accompanying the good captain on his morning run."

The intelligence caught on rather quickly, polite voice gaining an almost sarcastically mocking edge. _"If that is true sir, then I think all hope is lost. I say we skip the tests and go straight to pulling the plug,"_ he decided. _"There is no cure."_

"Oh well, hardy har," the billionaire grumbled, crumpling up his duvet and shoving it under his nose. "I'm going back to sleep. At least there I won't have to put up with your incessant nagging. Wake me up when September ends, would you?"

There was a pause. _"It is the middle of May."_

Tony managed to frown into his pillow, eyes rolling upwards under closed lids. The audacity of the artificial intelligence was astounding. "Fine, fine, whatever," he breathed out, making the absent note to introduce more pop culture into the system. "Wake me up when the war is over then."

The artificial butler hummed back, apparently approving this turn of phrase. _"Which war would that be, sir?"_

Tony's eyes flitted open to stare out the window again, any notion of sleep cleansed from his mind. That other light was still on, reminding him he wasn't completely alone. "The one that's raging in my head?" he whispered, breathing through the flash of panic curling in his chest.

* * *

" _Sir, I am unsure about the war inside your head – but the others are beginning to wake up now."_

Tony gave an absent nod, continuing his staring contest with that singular light in the opposing building. He had yet to close his eyes, to blink, because that damn irrational voice was trying to convince him that when he opened his eyes again – the light would be gone.

It was his manners that reminded him to answer, and he frowned, licking his lips. "Oh? Uh, who's up then?" he questioned, the frown deepening when another light came into being a few floors down. It must've been the beginning of the work day then, if more offices were being used. "If it's only carrot-top, I refuse to leave this room. Every time I am alone with that woman, I break something."

Jarvis made a small sound of understanding. _"I believe the more accurate term, sir, would be that she breaks something."_

The genius didn't even have a retort for that.

Tony pushed onto his elbows, tearing his eyes away from the outside world with a mumbled command to darken the windows. "I don't remember programming you with so much sarcasm," he noted quietly, rubbing a hand over his features. The lack of sleep made his bedroom blur at the edges, like he'd had too much drink or too little to eat.

" _In your defence sir, you were very drunk. But you seemed adamant that it was the right thing to do,"_ Jarvis recalled fondly.

The billionaire grunted, shoving back the blankets and leaving the comfort of his warm bed. Every muscle seemed to protest against it, but his mind argued that once a coffee and shower were done with, they'd be silent. Caffeine and hot water were miracle workers like that.

He was staggering drunkenly towards the bathroom with single minded intent when he heard it, the ceiling humming to life with a voice again. _"Anyway, sir,"_ the intelligence continued, remembering his initial question. _"Agent Romanov is indeed up, but she is accompanied by Captain Rogers and Agent Barton. They are all seated in the kitchen, eating breakfast."_

Tony mumbled into soapy hands, the words unintelligible to even his own ears. It was far too early to be sassed by the artificial intelligence he'd made with his own blood, sweat and tears. He hadn't even had a _coffee_ yet. "Yeah, Jay. I'll be out in a bit," he muttered, tipping his head back and relishing in the hot water.

All he needed was a steaming cup of caffeinated heaven, and he'd call it a good morning.

Flicking the handle so the water flow stopped, Tony mussed up his hair, droplets shedding to paint the walls around him. "Get my coffee machine running, would you?" he asked loudly, trying to drown out the thoughts in his head. "If I don't have a cup ready in the next five minutes, I might die of withdrawal. Or die because I'll be grumpy, say something rude to carrot-top and then abruptly lose all my limbs."

Did Jarvis ever feel the desire to laugh? His creator was pretty hilarious. _"Your coffee has already been prepared, sir."_

"You're a saint," Tony called out, tugging a plain band shirt over his head. The darker material didn't block out the shine of his arc reactor, and absently he tapped the circle, eyes drifting back to the windows again. "They should give you a Bafta."

Jarvis let out a short sound, and he knew the intelligence enough to recognize it as denial. _"It's not me you should be thanking, sir. I did not touch your machine this morning. It was Agent Romanov who prepared it for you,"_ he revealed hesitantly, like he expected an argument.

Tony frowned, playing with his hair in the mirror. "Natasha?"

" _Something must have led her to believe you were in need of the caffeine,"_ Jarvis drawled, lowering the lights in the room as the man sauntered through the doorway. _"But it is not something I have told, nor shown her, sir. I am unaware as to why she has gone out of her way."_

Rubbing the dark circles below his eyes, the genius walked towards the elevator, pressing the button for the communal level. There was no way the red headed woman would suddenly take it upon herself to feed his caffeine addiction – especially considering she hated the unhealthy habit – so something was obviously wrong. But considering it was the woman, he'd never know _what_ until she decided to tell him…

The elevator chimed, and with a shake of his head, he moved into the living area wearing a well-practised smile. "Good morning, you lot," he greeted, flashing the grin to the men sitting at the kitchen counter, their breakfasts in hand. "Did you sleep well?"

Steve made a small noise back, face slightly red from exertion and chest moving quicker than usual. He was back from his disgustingly early morning run then.

Tony fetched the steaming cup that sat rather innocently on the counter, looking over the two guys again. "You want any?" he offered, taking a fortifying sip as the blond shook his head and the archer grinned. Taking it as a yes, he grabbed another cup and started up the machine. "How was the run, Captain? Save any kittens from dastardly trees? Help any old ladies cross the road?"

The newspaper – _newspaper_ , god he was puking a little in his mouth _–_ crinkled in the blond's hand, blue eyes peeking up over the edge. "It's getting warmer now," Steve announced, smiling slightly at the realisation. He never did like the colder months, figures. "I don't have to deck out in merino every morning now."

Clint accepted the coffee offered to him graciously, smiling through teeth tainted by fruit loops. "Those warmer mornings make it a little easier to get out bed now too," he pointed out, tipping his cup in salute. "Feet don't freeze as soon as I touch the floor – _oh,_ we should invest in heated flooring!"

"Did I hear you offering to _pay_ for it?" Tony countered quickly, lifting a brow over the rim of his own cup.

Clint narrowed his eyes as the elevator chimed behind him, pointing his empty spoon at the genius. "You make more money in _one day,_ then I make in an entire year," he accused haughtily, peering over his shoulder to take in the female form swaying towards him. "Nat, I need you to back me up here. If I want something, then he should have to pay for it, right?"

Natasha didn't bother to play around, eyes snapping to the form hunched over the counter top. "Did I make the coffee how you like it?"

"It's a little too sweet," Tony answered carefully, nodding his head in acknowledgement. It was the only sign of gratitude she was going to get from him. "A lot like you actually, gorgeous – why did you make me a coffee? You're not one to kiss ass."

The red head's smile was a few seconds away from giving him a cavity. "Oh, no reason," she lied, clean through her teeth. "I don't know about you guys, but I couldn't sleep too well last night. Passed the time prowling through the tower, playing bodyguard, you know _passing the time_. I'll admit that maybe I snuck onto a few floors that don't belong to me, found a few rooms…"

Tony lifted both his hands in surrender. "Okay, the giant room filled with porn? Not mine, I'm actually... No, yeah, that's mine. I have no shame."

"Your nightmares are back."

The billionaire let out a world-weary sigh, wondering how loud he must've screamed when he woke up that morning. If the assassin had heard it, she'd either been closer than she should've or he'd been louder than he should've. _"Your_ snooping habits are back. How the hell did you get the pass codes for my floor?" he demanded, teeth grinding together. "Jay, I thought I said no one goes in or out?"

There was a tutting click of a tongue. "Don't blame him," Natasha scolded, tipping her head to the ceiling. "I heard you, and he let me in when I asked nicely and expressed concern. You should try your hand at manners one day, Tony – it might take you to places otherwise closed to you. Actually, why don't we start right now?" she offered, spreading her hands out in invitation and giving a sweet smile. "Let's start by you answering my _damn_ questions. How does that sound?"

"Pretty boring," Tony murmured, letting the media tested and approved smile come out to play again. Pale eyes narrowed dangerously at his reply, and he was tempted to take his caffeine and run, but the elevator let out another loud chime.

It was the sight of sleep mussed curls, and crooked glasses that saved the day.

Natasha backed away slightly, turning to give the scientist a warmer look than she'd given the genius. "Bruce," she acknowledged, dipping her head before dropping her weight at the counter.

Bruce looked up, startled by the welcome. "Oh, good morning," he greeted, smiling slightly as he moved to rummage around in the cupboards.

Because the lean, green fighting machine was his favourite – he had an entire section closed away from whatever the hell he wanted, be it crockery, recipes books or a super secret stash of cookies. He dug around in said section now, a sweet sickly smell lingering in the air as he poured over the contents. He could've had _cookies_ damn it, but instead chose what was apparently an indoor – incupboard? – herb garden.

Tony had never been so disappointed in his life.

He eyed the man and his dangerous assortment of herbal blends. "Is that tea? God, why do you do this to yourself?" he grumbled, wrinkling his nose as the bright packet was deposited on the countertop. It looked like something a kid would drink in milk. "How can you do this? There's no _caffeine_ , so what's the point? It's a useless pass time."

Bruce gave a wan smile. "You know it's tea, don't ask dumb questions. I do this because I like the flavour, and the heat calms me down. I do this rather easily really, it's as simple as steeping the bag in hot water," he listed, taking a deep breath in to finish. "The point is, I sleep at night, so caffeine is unnecessary."

The genius felt vaguely impressed all questions were answered. "I totally sleep…"

"You totally don't," Bruce retorted without a beat of thought, shifting to lean against the counter. "If you do, what time did you finally go to bed last night then? If you totally catch the recommend several hours a night, it must've been quite early," he pointed out, blowing on his tea and taking a contented sip.

Tony felt his brow climb up at the mocking undertone. "Quarter past two," he admitted bitterly, rolling out his shoulders as he turned to take in the outside world. That light was now surrounded by dozens of others, but he could barely make them out as the sun steadily made its way through the sky. "And it's a _recommendation_ , yeah? It's not exactly a law."

"Right. What time did you wake up?"

Feeling irritation leave a nasty taste on his tongue, the billionaire forced his teeth together. "Right, what time did you become my mother?" he demanded instead, licking his lips before trying to sip from his empty cup.

Bruce's features twisted ever so slightly, before he managed; "It was about when Pepper retired."

Tony hesitated as he went to top up his cup, closing his eyes against the low blow. "Well then, mother," he mocked with a lilting tone, pressing the button on the machine harder than he should've. His poor baby. "I don't remember. I don't go around _counting_ the hours of shut eye I manage to catch."

He got a glare, an actual glare from the ever calm and rational Dr. Bruce Banner?

He was in the doghouse then.

 _Motherfuc –_

"He's back to having nightmares," Natasha declared smartly, one of her hands expertly twirling a blade while the other held a brightly coloured apple. Every few beats she would stop the absent-minded action, cut into the apple, and pop the flesh into her mouth. "Although for some reason, I'm not surprised anymore?"

The curly headed man fidgeted uncomfortably. "Tony?"

It was the worried tone that made him shut his eyes, snatching the cup back. "What? When did this suddenly become an _avenging_ problem? My sleeping habits – or lack thereof – have never bothered any of you before, so why now?" Tony drawled, lifting his mug in a mocking salute. It was four pairs of eyes that stared back, each in different levels of concern. "Please, enlighten me, oh wise assassiny one."

"You've been having a lot of nightmares, you know…" That would be their loyal captain, quite the regular golden boy with his stupid concern. "I mean, some days you don't even look like you've slept, and some days it doesn't seem like you even _tried_ too _."_

Tony let out a slow breath. "I wouldn't call them _nightmares_ ," he murmured, swallowing past the thickening lump in his throat. He didn't want to talk about this, not now and – and not ever, if he had a say in things. "You know, I hadn't really noticed the insomnia, but thanks for pointing it out. It's nice remembering those endless nights I spend hopelessly staring up at my ceiling."

Steve looked like someone had punched his puppy – not that he had one. There were rules against pets in the tower.

The hurt expression, all big baby blues and pouting lips, made the billionaire falter in his war path. "Listen guys, the concern is lovely, really. It's just not needed. I've been having a few bad nights is all. You know how that can be."

The soldier nodded, because he _did_ know. "If this…" Steve licked his lips, sharing a look with the scientist still sipping his tea. "If this is about New York then – "

Tony shook his head, stopping the man before he could even _start_ with the honour and good will rant. "This isn't about the invasion, or the portal or – listen, it's not about anything, okay? Let's drop this and move onto greener pastures, yeah? Well, except you Bruce – you should stay the same shade you are now, you're not allowed to get greener. I've spent enough repairing this damn tower as it is."

Bruce nodded, giving an obedient but awkward chuckle. "Sorry about that…"

The words, as forced as they were, made the genius let out another sigh. "Bruce, _I'm_ sorry," he muttered quietly, smiling a little to take away the heat of the previous few minutes. "Didn't mean to snap. The coffee hasn't kicked in yet."

"It's okay," Bruce shrugged, knowing better than to push any further on a topic the man was set on avoiding. He swirled a silver spoon in his cup for a few seconds, finally pulling out the tea bag and throwing it aside. "You know, you don't have to answer this..."

Tony made a face, grabbing his cup and a protein bar before moving towards the elevator. "And that's my cue to exit."

Bruce watched him go with confused eyes, letting him get a few steps closer to his goal. "You said that you wouldn't call them nightmares," he called out, catching the man seconds before he could disappear into the metal monster. "Which probably means you think they don't bother you, or you think they don't tick all the _horror_ boxes."

"They _don't_ bother me," Tony replied easily. "Never said anything about the horror. Is this all, my rides waiting?"

The curly headed man frowned, lines appearing around his mouth and eyes as he thought. "If they don't bother you, but they scare you…" he shook his head, pushing the tea cup away from his body and offering up a soothing smile. "What are the dreams about then?"

Tony dropped the hopeful eyes. "You remember that old friend I mentioned?" he murmured distractedly, toying with the solid edges of the cup. It took him less than a second to backtrack, hearing the red headed woman let out a curious hum. He didn't need her poking around in his head "Actually, don't worry about it. I'll uh, I'll see you guys later."

* * *

 **Is this true? Have I really started the rewrite?**

 **I suppose that seeing as you guys have finished the first official chapter, then yes, I really have! I'd like to clear some things up quickly though – first being yes, some of this will be me using old jokes just with a better style of writing, but this is technically a rewrite. Things are going to change. The length of the chapters, the plot, getting rid of things I didn't like and adding in things I should've the first time around. Oh, and I can't write first person no matter how hard I try… sorry…**

 **I hope some of the old readers – the old friends, lol I'm so damn funny wow – are still with me, but I also hope to gain some more! I've been excited to give this story what it deserves.**

 **Taila xx**


	3. Truth

Tony was known to never stop moving, never stop talking, never stop _thinking_ – he was kinda like the engines he invented in that regard. There was always something to say, whether it was his thoughts or a complex calculation, and if he wasn't talking then he was dancing around the room like a caffeinated chipmunk, full of boundless energy and seemingly everywhere at once.

The past few hours however…

He'd been almost carefully, eerily, _dangerously_ still.

Tony didn't know what it was, but something was sapping his energy faster than his expensive coffee could provide it. It might have been the headache burning behind his eyes – the blasting rock music probably wasn't helping, oops? – or it might've been his recent streak of sleepless nights. It might have been _anything_ , but either way, he didn't know and he didn't care – again, oops?

It didn't matter. He had important things to be doing, bad guys to be foiling, metaphorical cake to have and eat too. His work as a superhero wasn't _easy_ , it took hours, it too sacrifices – which was why he had yet to leave for little more than a piss break.

The world came first. The mission came first. Doom came first, bless his slimy little heart.

It was a sad day in superhero history when the bad guy was more important than food and sleep, but what was a man in iron to do? He had a deadline. Their last fight against the maniac had found him on the ground in less than twenty minutes, dead and unmoving like the suit around him. He'd never been so terrified in his life, caught between helping his friends and a panic attack.

The only way his suit could shut down was if someone shut _him_ down. It took power from the arc reactor, and if there was no power in the suit that meant there was none in the arc reactor. It meant his heart was flatlining.

Read: he'd never been so terrified in his life.

Tony swiped a hand over his brow, brushing away the sweat but leaving a smear of grease in its wake. He didn't really have much, despite the hours he'd been toiling away. It was hard to find the answer when he didn't know the question, when he didn't know how the fuck his suit had been knocked out. But anything was better than nothing, right? _Anything_ was at least a start…

Movement flashed in the corner of his vision, spurring him to lift his eyes. "Bruce, hey, can you – "

Blue eyes hit him hard.

Tony felt the words die in his throat, hands trembling as he took in the woman standing calmly a few feet away, white shirt dripping red. There wasn't any – _she was –_ he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through his nose when panic gripped his chest.

Hallucinations weren't new. He was famous for missing days of sleep at a time, living solely on caffeine to get him through the hours, and shit like _seeing things_ came with the territory. It wasn't surprising that his mind was playing tricks on him – his mind was as much of an asshole as he was – but it was a little shocking to see the woman. Just – if he looked – if he looked up again, she'd be gone.

Tony blinked, slowly looking up, every movement dripping with trepidation. _See? Gone, just like I said…_

Letting out a shuddering breath, he slowly went back to work, choosing to mutter out loud and fill the silence. It was easy to lose hours in the strain of mathematics, easy to forget everything when his fingers hit technology and his mind started going. It was easy to achieve that perfect state of _numb_.

Footsteps echoed behind him, barely heard over the music blasting through the room, and he fought to keep his shoulders loose. It was another trick – he knew how he own mind worked – and all he had to do was pretend it was still paradise rather than hell. He had to trick his head into thinking he wasn't falling for the trick it was trying to trick him with. It was gonna be tricky.

"Oh, are you still working those upgrades?"

Tony barely managed to stop from starting to the side in shock, surprised someone was actually beside him. It wasn't all in his head. "Ah, yeah?" he murmured.

Bruce's voice may have been weak, _feeble_ really when compared to the loud metal shaking the walls, but it was loud enough to be heard – rather like the man, quiet until he wanted someone to listen. "I was starting to wonder why you hadn't shown up for lunch."

Tony gave a weak shrug, trying his damnest not to stray from the equations hovering before him. "Hm, oh yeah, still going…" he allowed, voice only slightly forced. It came out awkwardly, rough like gravel, and he cleared his throat with a wince. "Busy, busy, busy, you know me."

When it was clear the conversation would continue, the music was lowered – _Jay, you bloody prick –_ and a curly head poked into his field of vision, looking over the formulas with an interested eye. Going on habit, the billionaire stepped to the side, letting his science bro read over it all without so much as a second thought. It had been a hard lesson to learn initially, but he'd realised a second opinion never hurt.

Especially when the person giving it happened to be as smart, maybe even smarter, than him.

"Oh, wait, no, don't do that," Bruce waved a hand at a section of the hologram. "It'll short out if you come into contact with anything even _vaguely_ nuclear. Unstable chemicals and unstable circuits don't mix," he warned. "I don't wanna have to pluck you from the sky again when your suit crashes."

Tony noticed where he went wrong, eyes narrowing, before his hands flew to fix it and his head dipped in a thankful nod. He must've been more exhausted than he thought, especially if he was making such amateur mistakes. In echo of the thought, his eyes drifted to where, only mere minutes before, blue eyes had glared his way and white material had been stained red.

Definitely exhausted.

"So, anyway," Bruce cleared his throat, still uselessly hovering. "How long, um, how long have you been having the nightmares this time?" he questioned lightly, feigning interest in the mathematics. "Usually your depressive spells barely last a week, but – and don't take this the wrong way – but you kinda look like shit."

Brown orbs rolled skywards. "That didn't take you long," Tony noted tiredly, shoulders slumping even as he tried to keep up a smile. "Not that I was counting the seconds or anything, because that would be uber weird, can you imagine it and – okay, eighty seconds, it was eighty seconds. I was counting, and I don't care. Judge away. If it was me I would've at least made it to eight five seconds, so suck on that."

The returning grin was missing its usual genuine edge, but it was still amused. "I couldn't think of a way to casually worm it into conversation," Bruce excused, throat bobbing in a tight swallow. "Sue me, or better yet, answer me?"

The genius shook his head in defeat. "I don't know, yeah? I stopped counting the nights when I hit double digits. I only know they're not relenting like normal."

The information pad he was fiddling with was plucked from his hand. "Tony, you know better than I do, that they won't be gentle forever," Bruce warned absently, and it was rather clear who _they_ were without it needing to be said. "Natasha was born with manipulation in her blood. If she wants to know something, she'll trick you into thinking you want to tell her. You won't win."

Tony looked up, eyes shimmering in annoyance as he reached out to snatch back the device and be done with the conversation. It took one glance to see the firm gleam in glass covered eyes however, and he let out a groan, slumping against the nearest table. "Yeah, I know how her brain works," he sighed, shaking out his hands when he finally noticed the cramps paining them. "I'll try work out some speech or something then, okay? If I give her something boring she might lose interest. Now, can I have my work back, or am I grounded to my room?"

"Resorting to sarcasm will get you nowhere."

"If this infamous _nowhere_ is far away from you, then I'm perfectly okay with that."

Bruce grunted, throwing the tech into the mess and raking a hand through his curls. "You know that we bug you because we care, right?" he asked, both brows lifting in exasperation. "I know that you don't like talking about this crap and I don't either, but really, we only want to help. Holding onto these feelings won't make things better, and in my _almost_ professional opinion, it could serve to only make things worse."

Distracting his mind by idly playing with his fingers, the genius pushed away from his unfinished work. "I already told you, they're not nightmares," he muttered, trying for another smile, only to fail yet again.

Bruce studied him with care. "Then what, pray tell, are they?"

"Memories," Tony announced with feigned boredom, snatching up his cup and glaring at the remaining drops of coffee. It was almost heart-breaking to see it empty. "Looks like I need to go topside – I've run outta caffeine. You planning on tagging along, or are you happy to rot down here in the brig?"

The scientist almost seemed to perk up, like a puppy being pet on the head. "I might tag along…"

Tony smiled and lifted the cup in salute, happy to lead them both towards the elevator. It was easy enough to stick with the conversation as they travelled up, laughing with the other man or spitting out a sarcastic comment whenever there was a pause. He was almost impressed that he managed to keep a straight face actually, because on the inside he was screaming out every curse word he knew – and he knew a _lot_.

And it was the curly headed, innocent eyed little shit's fault. Bruce had been sent down to test the waters, to play at being the trojan horse, the white flag. He'd been sent down to try the whole _talk about your emotions_ bullshit, and then if that didn't work, switch and try his hand at their backup plan.

The backup plan that seemed to read as the following – _push every single one of his fucking buttons and see what happens!_

It wasn't that they didn't _care_ about his wellbeing, it was just that his friends were emotionally stunted idiots and showed said care in the shittiest ways – hence why his always rational science bro was trying to rile him up like a bully on a playground. He had to give them credit, they were trying at least, but he was still mildly pissed. This wasn't _helping_. This was picking up a pointed stick and poking at the sleeping lion.

It was only luck that proved such a method useless. It was also that the lion didn't really give a shit. The media tried to poke holes in his confidence all the time, and had yet to succeed – what made them think _they_ would?

Besides, the – _quote, unquote –_ nightmares weren't something he could ever be bullied into babbling about, no matter how pointed the stick, or how pointed the comment. It was greedy when he thought about it sure, but he wasn't willing to share the information yet. Those memories, those pictures, the echoing words? They were his to hoard in the turns of his mind, quite like a dragon would hoard its gold.

Only he was allowed to remember dark hair, to remember fleeting shots of grey blue eyes and a blinding smile…

The elevator let out a soft chime, but it seemed to crack like a gunshot as it broke the silence. He could hear the smaller man beside him let out a relieved sigh, leg tapping to some imaginary beat as he anxiously waited to be released. Bruce never could handle tight spaces _or_ awkward situations. It was kinda funny to watch in all honesty, and if the risk of him turning green and mad wasn't on the table, the genius might have even poked some fun of his own.

Actually, no, screw the risks – a hulk out would be an adequate distraction. "Bruce, buddy…" Tony gave a bright smile, absently praying the doors took a few beats longer to open than usual. "You're looking a little tightly wound there, maybe you need to – "

"Not gonna work, but nice try."

The doors opened, revealing the bright and open plan level – architecture at its finest, if he wanted to brag. "What? What's not going to work?" Tony demanded, storming into the kitchen with a muted grumble. Why didn't he have a coffee maker on his person at all times? Why hadn't he invented the pocket sized espresso machine yet? Why didn't his _suit have one built in?_

Wait, that could work.

Bruce lifted a single, judgemental as fuck brow – and great, _fantastic_ , even facial hair was mocking him now. "I will not hulk out for your entertainment," he muttered, settling at the counter and going straight for the fruit bowl. His hands bypassed the bright green apples without thought, knowing better than to touch the red heads favourite snack. "If you thought a few sly comments would do it, I'm hurt."

The genius barely paused. "Hello hurt, I'm Tony."

Happily gurgling away on the counter, the coffee maker let bitter black dribble into his once empty cup. "You're making dad jokes now?" Bruce complained, words echoed by milk steaming and frothing. "I expected more from you, really."

Tony had barely lifted the mug to his lips, grin in place, when another voice sounded – _"Hey, tall dark and irritating?"_

"What the – Clint?" Tony peered over his cup with a frown, catching a dirty blond head over the couch cushions. "What the hell do you want? I swear to god, if the words _money_ or _money for underfloor heating_ leave your mouth, I can't be held accountable for what happens to you."

The archer shifted with a quiet grumble, trying in vain to find where their voices were coming from. It was a miracle he hadn't died out on some mission yet, seeing as it took him about five seconds _too long_ to realise they were in the kitchen. "Fury wants us to have another team-bonding-session-thingy soon," he announced, chin propped up on the back of the couch, phone waving in his hands. "He said no excuses either, so don't bother trying to think of one."

Tony felt his cheek twitch. "No excuses, huh?" he murmured. "Let's go with a white lie then. Tell him we're hitting the zoo next week."

Clint raised his brows, childishly content at the news. "We're going to the zoo? Sweet," he sung, grinning until he noticed the billionaires look of impatient exasperation. "Uh, wait, was that bit the white lie? We're _not_ going to the zoo? What even is a white lie?"

Tony went to answer, but was cut short by a commanding voice. It was a little tinny, thanks to the whole phone call thing, but it was no less frightening. _"I don't care what the fuck you do, but you better do something,"_ Fury snapped without remorse. _"I'm expecting you all to sit down and have a tea party so damn domestically blissed out, I could make a television show about you. We clear?"_

The dial tone rang out before anyone could even think up an answer – sarcastic or otherwise.

Brown eyes slipped closed, hiding from the world. "Screw you too, asshole," Tony snapped bitterly, hiking up his cup and taking a long drag. It was a shame it was only coffee and not something a little _stronger._ "You didn't think to tell me he was on speaker? If I had known he could hear me, I would've kept my damn mouth shut. The man's a menace to both society and my health, I swear."

Bruce gave an apologetic smile, like he understood the frustration. "I think he's quite charming," he declared dryly. "I don't see why we need to have a tea party though – we live in the same building most days, and you're known to detest the beverage."

"He's trying to torture me," Tony snorted, blinking hard to worm the headache back. "Brucie, where are the painkillers?"

Bruce hummed, and that damn familiar shade of worry coloured his eyes again. "Um, above the fridge, with all those cartoon band aids you keep bulk buying," he chuckled, shaking his head when the genius grinned unrepentantly. "Before you ask – yes, I found the hulk ones, and I love them."

"Good, because I ordered another three shipments. I'ma buy the hulk in bulk," Tony joked, wrinkling his nose as he stretched up to fetch the pills. He needed to create some sort of _grow taller_ serum, because honestly, his pride could only take so much. "And before _you_ ask – I'm fine, it's just a headache. I'm feeling rather super actually," he announced, taking the pills with a hearty swig of black coffee. "Get it? I'm feeling super? Super cause hero? Damn, I'm hilarious."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "I swear to god almighty, if I have to spend more than three hours in a room with you, I might actually hulk out…" he groused, looking up in time to catch the flash of hope in attractive features. "What, no don't, you – _no._ Whatever you're thinking, no. I refuse to be a part of this."

Tony lifted a hand in surrender. "Hey, what I was thinking didn't even include you," he drawled. "But fine, don't play with me. Your loss."

That gave the curly headed man pause. "What _were_ you thinking?" he asked slowly, leaning against the counter in interest. "Is it something I would _want_ to be included in? Do I need to get back on your good side?"

"Oh, so you _do_ want to play with me?"

Bruce blinked, mouth moving without sound for a few seconds. "You know what, I changed my mind," he decided, waving a hand before going back to carefully peeling an orange. "Go be nefarious somewhere far away from me. Maybe you should go clear your head? Go for a walk, or a run, or a drive or – or a fly? Whatever the hell you do in that suit of yours."

"That _whatever_ I do? Yeah, it's called be awesome," Tony scowled, finishing his coffee and dumping the cup in the sink. "Running isn't awesome. Running is disgusting. You get all red and gross, and sweat is not an attractive look – no matter what our dear captain is trying to sell. Now good day sir, I'm going to go bless someone else with my presence, since you're apparently taking me for granted," he poked out his tongue, bowing with flourish before wandering back towards the elevator. "Who knows, I might go do whatever the hell I want in that suit of mine."

Bruce lifted his peeled orange in reply.

Rolling his eyes – _oh_ he should keep a tally chart of his daily eyerolls – the genius bustled back into the metal box, intent on the lowest level. The thought of a walk seemed nice enough, maybe something to clear the fog lingering over his mind. He didn't really trust his body in the suit right now, so being awesome wasn't really an option and – and who was he kidding? He was _always_ awesome.

Sweet.

The doors chimed, the sound obnoxious and something he made the note to change, before he wandered into the lobby with lazy steps. "Hey, hey, hey," Tony greeted, nodding once to the security guard watching over the front desk. "Mind if I borrow these?" he asked, snatching up the dark glasses clinging to the broader man's suit pocket. "You're a saint, thank you, someone give this man a raise."

"Thank you," the guard allowed, bowing his head. "Have a good evening, Mr. Stark"

Tony lifted a hand in acknowledgement. "You too, bucko," he called, slipping the dark glass over his eyes as he pushed through the front doors.

The light outside was changing, the sky streaked with amber and violet as twilight reared its head, and the sight almost made him choke on his own tongue. How long had he been down in his workshop, puttering about and yelling at shadows in the corners like a madman? He could've sworn it had only been a couple hours at most, enough to take him past lunch, but enough to take him into the evening?

"Jesus," Tony whispered, blinking hard when he entered the moving crowd. "I really need to get a clock down there."

If anything, there was an upside to the late time, he supposed. The likelihood of people recognizing him was lowering with every passing second, and that would only mean good things for him. It was the time of day where the sun _blinded_ you from awkward angles, the night shadowing what the rays couldn't reach, and it was the only time he could really leave the tower without needing an escort.

This late, the only thing people cared about was going home to their families. They weren't focused on who was around them, but rather who was waiting for them. He'd be safe if he kept his head down, and watched the ground with a feigned interest.

Tony shivered lightly when the cooler air started creeping through his clothing, and he lifted his hands to rub cold fingers together against the chill. Despite his best efforts, goosebumps dimpled along his skin, and he cursed his own stupidity at not grabbing something warmer. He'd been so damned focused on running away, he hadn't checked to make sure the world would let him.

Clutching his midsection, he looked around, taking in the taller buildings and thinning crowds. There was a market nearby, wasn't there? Some family run place brimming with fresh produce and locally made baked goods. He knew the team went there often, something about supporting the little people, and the odd time he'd pinched a pastry had proven they were well worth the extra coin they charged.

Tugging out his phone, he shot out a simple and easy text – _**Your little bakery hideaway, does it do savoury?**_

He knew better than to think the captain would answer quickly. He'd probably spend a good five minutes staring at the phone in sheer confusion. _What is this strange device and why is it speaking to me?_ Tony snorted slightly at the thought, nodding hurriedly to someone who looked his way at the sound.

His phone vibrated in his hand, and he thumbed through the lock absently, reading over the text while still watching where he walked. _**Dinner? Yes, they have some good pastries you might like. Buy some vegetables, a salad should be added to protein – Steve.**_

Tony snorted. _**Cap, I didn't need an essay.**_

Rolling his eyes at the text message – and that was the second mark on his tally – he moved onto a new number, not bothering to text this one. He knew better than to expect an answer if he did. Apparently _,_ texting was _unsocial_ and _unemotional_. For a genius, the curly headed man could be a real idiot sometimes.

The phone clicked as the lines connected. _"Tony, what the hell do you want now? If you think you can make me hulk out over the phone, you have another thing coming,"_ Bruce grumbled, his voice clear and as dry as always. _"And that's so rude? Making me hulk out while making sure to stay away from the war zone."_

Tony cracked a short grin. "You know, I hadn't even thought of that," he admitted, slowing to a halt outside the bustling store. It was this store, right? He checked out his surroundings before slowly wandering in, confused at the warm lights and laughing patrons. "But no, my dear science bro, I promise I am not trying to make you hulk out. I just wanted to know what you feel like for tea?"

" _You're buying dinner? Where the hell are you?"_

Absently running his hands over a fresh mango, he lifted it to gently scent the fruit. "Believe it or not, I'm at that market place you guys love," he informed the scientist, eyes drifting to where a few rusted trolleys sat rather innocently. "If you don't believe me, ask Steve."

The man hummed before rustling could be heard, voices exchanging conversation in the background, curious but demanding. Tony was content enough to wait until the scientist came back, and he happily rallied up a few of the fruit – if they smelt so nice, they must taste nice too, right? – dropping them into a plastic bag. Even if he didn't like them, he knew a certain red headed assassin slash fruit bat who would.

Bruce came back with a pleased sigh. _"Okay, apparently you're not lying through your teeth. I'm proud. You gonna grab some vege?"_

"I don't want too, but I have too," Tony murmured, looking over the produce section. "What do I grab, though?"

All the fruits and vegetables were in rustic wooden crates, and he smiled at the homely sight, deciding to bag a few of anything that looked good. There was a sweet smell sitting in the air, and it was almost making him feel pleasantly dizzy.

" _Lettuce, big green bulbs about the same size of your head. Carrots, long orange sticks,"_ Bruce listed slowly, amusement beginning to colour the smoother lines of his voice. _"Cucumbers are always nice, they're long green sticks. Uh, radish, a small pink but also red ball. Get some red onions, they always add a nice spice to any salad – they're magenta? Is that an appropriate colour term?"_

Tony started looking for the orange and green sticks, but another vivid colour caught his attention. The bright green apple was almost hypnotising, and he quickly moved to pick some of them before moving on to the rest. "Okay, so you want balls and sticks in every colour of the rainbow?" he mocked weakly, biting his lip. "Um, I'm looking at a long green stick? It's got some leaves at one end, and it looks like it's been hollowed out in the middle? Like a little boat?"

" _That's celery. You know these things have names below them, right?"_

Tony happily grabbed a bunch. "I want the boats."

Bruce let out a sigh. _"Grab some nuts, and grab some cheese,"_ he instructed, apparently trying to end his duties as quickly as he could. _"Oh, and some ice-cream too. Steve said they sell a homemade full cream version. I want chocolate, Natasha wants butterscotch. Rest of them don't care."_

Tony frowned but nodded along with the words, dark head lifting so he could scope out the length of the store. It was an open plan building, like an abandoned warehouse, and it was small enough that he could see all four corners with ease, but there were people everywhere. The crowd wasn't _huge_ but it was big enough that he struggled a little to see everything…

"Oh yeah, I think I see the chillers," he allowed, catching the small hand painted sign across the building. It was quaint, pale pastels in childish handwriting, and he felt a smile grow. "You want chocolate. Natasha wants butterscotch. The others don't give a flying fu – "

Tony felt his throat go dry.

Bruce almost sounded impatient on the line, voice shadowed slightly by concern. _"They don't give a flying what? Tony, you there?"_

The genius tried to answer, his lips moving to ask for help, but no sound managed to hit the air. His voice, his sarcasm, his greatest defence was gone and he felt far too vulnerable standing there alone. He wanted someone beside him, someone who could look the same way he was, and tell him no one was really standing there. He wanted someone to tell him he'd finally lost it.

"Quinn?"

The chocolate head didn't lift, but unlike his other hallucinations, the woman wasn't dripping in blood and looking at him with betrayed crystalline eyes. It seemed like she was anybody else, going through the selection of products with pursed lips and tired features. His heart pounded as the woman – _was it her, it can't have been, she was dead, he'd seen it happen –_ moved towards the counter, carton of milk in hand.

" _Tony, come on, I need you to answer me?"_ Bruce was distant, ringing in his ears like an irritating bug. _"Crap, crap okay. Natasha? I don't know, he's not replying, but I can hear him breathing… no, it's fast and shallow. I think he's having another panic attack."_

It wasn't possible, was it? Scientists said there were seven people in the world, seven who bore a close resemblance to one another, so what if this was a freak accident? What if he'd happened upon someone who looked _similar_ to the woman in the late light of the evening. That was more probable, more believable, more likely to break his goddamned heart.

He couldn't control his feet as they took a few nervous steps forward, eyes still trained on the moving figure as she smiled graciously at the lady behind the counter. Someone else could see her, he wasn't… he wasn't…

He wasn't crazy.

" _Tony, it's me. It's Natasha. I need you to breathe for me, in and out, like we practised remember?"_

The worker behind the counter served his hallucination, and every second made him feel dangerously out of breath. He could almost pinpoint the exact moment she felt his eyes, her brow lowering before her head canted up to catch him in the act. He couldn't help but wonder if she recognized him when her eyes widened. It wasn't the action of an innocent woman – nor was it the action of his imagination.

His hallucination practically threw some money on the counter and scattered, loping out the door like the devil was on her tail.

He wanted to believe it was her, he wanted to chase after her and grab her arm, he wanted to shake her and demand to know where she'd been. But it wasn't right. If she'd survived the cave, the gunshots, then she would've looked for him. Quinn had promised to stay with him back in the god forsaken cave, and she wouldn't go back on her word. If she was alive, she'd be with him, not in some tiny store wearing a sad smile and too big sweater.

" _Damn it, Stark!"_

Like someone flicking a light on, the billionaire registered the voice in his ear. "Gingersnaps, what's up?"

" _What the hell was that?"_ the red head demanded, sounding both pissed but relieved at the same time. How long had she been yelling in his ear then? _"Are you okay, what the hell happened? Why weren't you answering me?"_

Tony looked to the front door, shifting his weight. "I thought I – she was right – " He looked to the door again, wondering how far she could have gotten in the past minute. If he left now, could he catch her? If she was really there, would she let him catch her? "It was nothing. Mistaken identity. I'll be home soon."

He hung up before the assassin could even think about arguing.

* * *

 **Have you ever written, and then rewritten something so much it stops making any sense to you? This chapter did that. If there are any mistakes, I apologize profusely, but the longer I stare the more it blurs, I swear.**

 **Taila xx**


	4. Taxi

Tony ended up calling her back.

His pride had argued – oh had it _ever_ – but then his head had reminded him that he'd practically brought everything available from the small market store. There were more bags then he had sarcastic comments, and trying to carry it all back home would be stupid as heck.

And sure okay, normally his whole world _revolved_ around thinking of something stupid, being told that it was stupid and then proceeding to go through with its stupidness – what could he say, he liked the challenge. But even he knew when the impossible really was impossible. He also knew his arms happened to have the same muscle strength as wet noodles and he'd probably die before he hit the lobby.

Long story short, he called her back. _"I'll be there in five,"_ Natasha had promised, voice tight as she clearly held something further back.

He knew it wouldn't be held back for long – even he, with all his genius, would never be so lucky. It was only a matter of time before he'd be getting a well worded earful, complete with pointed looks, disappointed sighs and comments on his character, from not only the redhead but most likely the whole team. It was gonna be fun. He was looking forward to it.

Playing with the edges of the plastic bag, Tony adopted a smile when the sleek car idled up beside him. "Well, hello gorgeous," he purred, dumping the bags in the back before dropping his body into the passenger seat. "Did you miss me?"

The red head snorted. "You've only been gone an hour."

Oh lovely, she was in a good mood. "I wasn't talking to _you,_ " Tony scolded, pulling a face as he ran a hand over the dashboard. "I was talking to the car, to my beautiful baby girl right here. I have no need to ask you if you missed me. I know the truth."

"The truth being that I didn't?"

"The truth being that you did," Tony corrected shortly, shooting the woman another irritated look. The sharp, shark like grin he got in response made him instantly shy away, not trusting the knowing gleam to pale irises. "You know, uh..." he started, shifting back as the car roared to life. "You know I trust you, right? You, and the whole team, I mean. Trust without failure, or uh, _judgement_."

Natasha shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. "We trust you too," she murmured, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "So, what's got you in a sentimental mood then? Wouldn't happen to be that phone call would it – which _wasn't_ funny, by the way."

Tony wrinkled his nose. "Uh, no, because the past day? That phone call and the nightmares? All been a trust exercise. Surprise!"

Ah, and that was one of those disappointing sighs he'd been talking about.

The red head tapped her nails against the leather, face carefully blank as she drove. He knew that look, the _I'm thinking but I don't want you to know that_ look. The woman was no doubt plotting the next five minutes in her head perfectly, remembering previous reactions he'd had to certain words and then choosing what the script would be from that. Everything she'd learnt about him would be brought to the forefront of her mind, and she'd been judging both the situation and him with the knowledge.

It was an assassin thing, he was sure. "Natasha, sweetheart, listen I know that – "

"You said that name again," she announced dryly, playing dumb. "Quinn, was it?"

Tony felt his eyes slip close, hands slowly starting to tremble as memories bubbled up again. "Natasha, don't…" he sighed, tucking his hands under his thighs. He could feel the shaking travel up his legs, settling in his stomach and bringing up the coffee he'd downed earlier. "Don't, _please_."

The woman's brow shifted, like a tic, tying into a confused knot before smoothing out. He knew that look too – it meant he'd strayed from the script she'd written in her mind. Natasha let out a curious hum, tugging on the wheel and leading them _away_ from the tower. "Interesting. I don't think I've ever had a conversation with you in which _you're_ the one to draw the line."

He didn't bother arguing their new direction. "I still have a few surprises up my sleeve," he grumbled, lifting trembling fingers to run over the length of his chin. There was a slight rasp as calloused fingers hit sculpted facial hair. "I need to keep you on your toes somehow."

Natasha tuttered. "What is she then? Imaginary friend? The model that got away? Fuck buddy?"

The unintended insult behind the words made him bristle, shoulders straightening up and humour draining. "I get that you don't have a conscience like most people, but do you mind?" he snapped, the glare no longer teasing. "That _imaginary friend_ wasn't some stupid model, she was intelligent, caring, she was warm and – and if you plan on being a _bitch_ , you can do it far away from me and my tower, understood?"

The pleased look made it clear he'd fallen for the red head's rousing tricks. Natasha gave him a winning smile, corrected the lane they were on, and headed back towards the skyscraper they called home.

"Fuck," Tony muttered bitterly. "Your mind games are starting to lose their charm."

Natasha lost the smile. "Your panic attacks are starting to lose their charm," she countered quickly. "Your habit of hiding things from us is starting to lose its charm. Your nightmares are starting to lose their charm. Your little white lies are – "

Tony reached over without a word, flicking on the radio and turning up the volume. It didn't do squat to deter the woman, or bring an end to their little game of twenty questions; lithe fingers pressed a single button, and the car faded back into silence. He waited for her to start talking – she was gonna bring out the big guns eventually, and no, he wasn't talking about the one strapped to her thigh – he waited for something, but he only heard a sigh.

It was another game. Natasha was going to wait for him to crack, pushing buttons like the curly headed scientist had only hours before and hope something happened. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have been worried, but…

Natasha was good at what she did.

Tony narrowed his eyes, staring out the window like his life depended on it. He wasn't going to say a damn thing. The memories were his and his alone, _she_ was his and his alone. "I'm not going to tell you anything," he groused. "You can stop trying to intimidate me."

The red head shrugged. "I'm not trying to intimidate you."

"Then _what_ are you trying to do?" Tony growled, glaring across the small space. "I've read your file, been on your team, so I know how you work. You bat your eyelashes, throw out a smile or two, and then learn anything you could ever want to know," he listed, a mocking lilt to his voice. "I'm not – I'm not a _mission_ , Natasha, I'm your damn friend. At least be honest with me."

Natasha shook her head, letting out a measured breath. "Why should I be honest with you, if you won't be honest with me?" she pointed out lightly, slowing the car to a purring stop at some lights. "You can't expect me not to trick you, when its exactly what you're doing to me."

Tony frowned but didn't argue, managing to hear some truth even when he didn't want too. Here he was, demanding they tell him the truth, all so he could turn around and lie. He was either a terrible person, or he was a terrible friend. He didn't know which was worse.

But the words still caught in his throat. He wanted to tell someone how hard it was getting, he wanted someone to know the shadows were scaring him, that he couldn't trust his own _mind_ anymore – but he didn't want anyone to know. It wasn't embarrassing, but it wasn't something that should've been wrong with him. He didn't want to admit the shadows reached out, clawing at him, because he was a superhero and heroes didn't get scared.

Tony looked down at his lap, blinking past memories of those first few months living with the others. He'd recommended a good shrink to the captain living within his walls, once upon a time. Steve had needed help, had needed to talk to someone and had been unashamed about such need.

If Steve could do it…

"Quinn, she – she was a close friend," Tony admitted after a few silent minutes. "I knew her for a few months, got too close and… and I lost her, because my fucking luck, right?" he chuckled weakly, not even sure how he made the sound. "I guess the nightmares are opening old wounds again, that's all."

Natasha bowed her head in a nod. "Quinn was that old friend, then?" she murmured. "What happened? Did she walk away or…"

Tony let out a trembling sigh, licking his lips to keep the short sob from tearing past. "She, uh, she was shot actually," he whispered, scrunching up his face when the familiar burn of tears started up. "I tried to help her, but I was too slow and she… she died, right in front of my face. I don't know why it hurt as much as it did, I mean, we knew each for a few months at most but…"

"But she mattered," Natasha finished softly, warm hand coming to grab a more calloused one. "We all have people like that, Tony. People who meant more than they should've, and people who hurt so much to lose."

Tony squeezed her hand thankfully. "It's just…" he sniffed. "Nat, I'm _seeing_ things."

The woman paused. "Define seeing things?" she demanded, pulling over with a dangerous turn before spinning to face him. It was a no nonsense demand, and any lie he could've thought up died in his throat. "Tony, what do you mean by seeing things?"

He tried to smile, but he knew it fell flat. "I thought it was when I was tired, you know? Too little sleep, too much caffeine. It's happened before, back when I was making the suit, I pulled one too many all-nighters and thought it was flying around the room," Tony grimaced, remembering how startled he'd felt before he noticed it was flying without an energy income. "I saw her this afternoon, down in my workshop – staring right at me and covered in blood."

Natasha swallowed. "You need to stop working so hard," she murmured, shaking her head. "You can't keep going like this, Tony. Your body can only handle so much, and soon you're going to push it too far."

"But I saw her again," Tony whispered. "Back in the store. The clerk, she spoke to her, she acknowledged that she was standing there."

The hand holding his own tightened, like the woman had panicked for a split second, before the grip eased up. "It could've been someone that _looked_ like her, someone that bore a faint resemblance, and your brain filled in the blanks?" Natasha soothed, ducking her head to try and catch his eyes. It was hard not to sob at the warmth in her features, but somehow he managed. "It's amazing what the human mind can do, and I wouldn't put it past you to have one that's exceptionally talented. You wanted to see her bad enough that your brain made it happen."

Tony studied her with burning eyes, trying to see the lie in her words, but not finding it. "You think it was my mind playing tricks on me? Like the hallucinations?" he questioned slowly, unsure if he was irritated or happy with the assumption.

Natasha gave a quick nod.

"Okay, yeah okay, that's…" Tony swallowed, dropping her hand. "That's okay. I'm only crazy then."

The red head drew back, starting up the car again and slowly pulling away from the curb. "You're not crazy," she announced stubbornly. "But I don't think you got over her death, not like you're thinking you did. I know you're going to hate this, but you need to talk it out."

Tony rolled his eyes – mark three – and slumped back. "Yeah? Who the hell would want to listen to my insane ramblings?"

Natasha almost looked unimpressed with the question. "Your team?" she offered sarcastically, the tower finally coming into view and settling one of the aches in his chest. "Bruce, who you've claimed as your best friend? Steve, who you've practically adopted like a stray puppy? They'd listen to whatever you said, and you know it. I would, Clint would, Thor would if he was still in this dimension."

Steve was a thought. The man had had troubles of his own, he'd lost people he loved, hell he'd lost _everything_ …

Tony let out another sigh, playing awkwardly with his hands. "You're gonna be pissed though," he admitted quietly, peeking up at her through his lashes. "I kept it out of the reports. I didn't tell anybody about her, not even Rhodey or Pepper, and definitely not your boss."

The red head practically threw her head back into the laugh. "Somebody _died_ , and you think you're the only one who knows about it? You think the intelligence agency I work for doesn't know?" Natasha snorted, clearly unimpressed by what he thought. "I know you look down on us, but really? I'm almost insulted you think you can hide things from us."

"If you know _everything_ then…" Tony challenged. "How come you didn't know her name?"

Natasha had the audacity to shrug his way. "Probably wasn't in your file," she allowed. "If she didn't have anything to with your suit, or with any of the terrorist shit you got caught up with then she wouldn't be mentioned. Not important."

Tony bit his tongue as they parked beneath the building in his little garage, the car slimly fitting into the lot. "It's funny because she helped me design the suit," he confessed, pushing out of the seat and standing up. He could hear the woman scrambling to follow him, slamming the car door shut as he fetched all the bags. "It's _really_ funny because, if I went by the list you made, she should've been mentioned. Quinn had something to do with my suit, _and_ she had something to do with all the terrorist shit I got caught up with."

"What did – "

"The Ten Rings," Tony continued without pause. "I told you I didn't tell anyone."

Natasha blinked, and he could almost see the woman going through the file in her head, running over each and every detail. It wasn't a surprise that she probably knew the damn thing word for word. "You _didn't_ tell anyone," she realised, giving him an almost awed look. "Quinn meant something then."

Blue eyes flashed in his mind, bright and laughing even as they reflected the hell like cave around them. Tony couldn't help but smile at the memory, remembering the easy way the woman had treated the chaos around them, how easily she'd slipped into the small crevices that made up his heart. The barrel of a gun could've been pointing between those eyes, and she would've rolled them skywards to the gunman like they were sharing an inside joke.

Quinn had been _incredible,_ more or less an unstoppable force. She'd been a little shy to the touch, sure, but crazier than a storm until you got to the eye of it all. It had confused him in those first few days – when she should've _blushed_ , she gave a sly smile, and when she should've _slapped_ him, she flushed and murmured thanks. It was probably that constant confusion that had drawn him in so completely in the beginning.

It was either that, or her goddamn _face_. He didn't know, and he didn't care.

"Oh, hell yeah, she did, meant more than I'm comfortable admitting," the genius murmured, chuckling before he could stop the sound. "Who would've thought I had it in me? Complex emotions, how gross."

Natasha took some of the bags from him, carrying the heavy weight without so much as a blink. "I thought you had it in you," she allowed, the smile genuine instead of practised. He almost felt blessed. "You can hide that heart all you want, Stark, but you're at a disadvantage."

Tony frowned. "Disadvantage?"

The woman hummed, free hand tapping at the circle painting his chest. "Yeah, not sure how to break it to you, but it kinda _glows_ ," she revealed, dramatically letting out a gasp. "Hard to hide something when it's a neon sign. You should wear thicker shirts or something."

Peering down at his shirt – had his _heart_ been glowing like that all evening, and if so, how many people had noticed it? – he snorted. "That's not a disadvantage," he revealed, thumbing the shine lightly. "It's a reminder. It can get hard, keeping my chin up all the time, so when my head drops in defeat, or whatever you wanna call it, my little reactor reminds me to lift it again."

"God, how sickeningly poetic. I might throw up," Natasha declared, but again, that proud look resurfaced. "Thank you. Words aren't your strong point, but I appreciate the effort, however weak it was."

Tony mock growled. "Remind me never to do story time again."

Natasha nodded. "Okay. Tony don't do – "

" _Don't you dare."_

" – Story time again," the red head finished, a fucking literal skip in her step. "There we go, duty done, I reminded you."

Tony watched her walk away, red locks bouncing with every step, and the bags in her hands flying around. "Why are we even friends?" he wondered aloud, shaking his head before hurrying after the woman. They reached the elevator at the same time, the doors opening with a bright chime and a greeting from the intelligence watching over the tower. "Honestly, why? You're a terrible person, and you're a big meanie. I don't like it."

"Hey Jarvis," Natasha smiled first, peering up at the mirrored ceiling before searching for brown eyes once more. "And we're friends because we're _both_ terrible people, and we're _both_ big meanies. Peas in a pod, my dear."

The genius eyed her uncertainly, snorting all the while. "I'm so much nicer than you," he announced.

Fiery brows shot up in challenge. "Oh, is that so? I haven't made Captain America cry, and yet _you_ have," Natasha pointed out, looking far too smug as she grinned his way. He would slap that damn look from her face any second now, he swore it. "I mean, how heartless can you be?"

"Hey now, it wasn't my fault he wanted to watch _Bambi,"_ Tony shrugged, smothering the smile by wiping a hand over his lips. "I'll admit _Eight Below_ was at my suggestion, but how was I to know he had an affinity for huskies? I always thought he was a cat person, personally."

Natasha couldn't hide both her laughter or her smile, head thrown back into the sound. It was quite a stunning look on her, white teeth on display and humoured eyes reflected by mirrored walls, and he admired it briefly. If he hadn't already decided she was the sister he never had, he would've made a move long ago – she was goddamn gorgeous. "Cat person? He's far too loyal for that," she snorted, lips twitching when she finally sobered up. "There is a reason I referred to him as a stray before, you know? The damn man is an oversized, overfriendly puppy."

Tony paused. "I'm pretty sure I've read that fanfiction," he mused, blinking at the wall before starting when the elevator rang out loudly. _"Motherfuc_ – I need to change that damn sound, god, it gets me every time. I'm thinking maybe bells, or like rain? We need some more cheer in this place anyway, so – oh, oh I've got it, how about child's laughter?"

"That doesn't seem nightmarish at all," the assassin decided, nodding wisely. "Middle of the night, trying to get to my level, and when the elevator doors open _boom_ – a little girl laughs."

Following the woman out into the communal level, he made a small sound, verbally agreeing. "I'm glad you agree, I'll make the changes soon," he swore, dumping the bags on the counter. "It's something we need, I think. Some cheer, some scare, and some more horror movie nights. _Particularly_ horror movies with little kids playing bad guy, maybe that one where it's a red headed doll…"

The voice was deep enough to make the genius yelp, and close enough to make him crash sideways in surprise. "If you make me watch that goddamn doll movie, I'll kill you," Clint threatened lightly, smiling when the brunet rubbed his hip with a grumble. "Chucky is not a force to be reckoned with."

" _I'm_ not a force to be reckoned with," Tony muttered, rolling his eyes when the archer started raiding through the bags. "Can I help you?"

Clint gave a shrug, tugging out a random fruit and doing this weird wiggle when he realised he was holding a mango. He was either excited, or he'd swallowed a tiny monkey, the genius wasn't sure. "You did some shopping? I approve, but I also don't believe you picked out fruit? Is the store outta coffee and corn chips? Caffeine and twinkies? Espresso and – "

Tony held up a hand. "Yeah, we get it, thank you."

"No," Clint corrected, pointing to the genius with the brightly coloured fruit. "Thank _you."_

Tony watched the archer wander away, whistling under his breath as he tossed the fruit between his hands. He didn't know how the idiot was going to open up the damn thing without a knife, but he'd learnt long ago not to doubt either of the twin agents. They'd only shock him, and he'd only loose his pride. It was a game he didn't feel like playing.

It only took a rough shake of his head to dislodge his confusion, and he shifted towards the countertop. "Jay, my _darling_ intelligence system…" the billionaire droned, moving to unpack the bags. It seemed most of what he'd grabbed had been fruit, and he was vaguely impressed. He didn't know he had it in him. "Would you mind calling up the others? It's dinner time."

Natasha quirked up a brow. "You want us to eat a bunch of raw vegetables?"

Tony blinked sadly. "I got pie too?" he pointed out, lifting the freshly baked pastries. "Your favourite is steak and mushroom, right?"

It was a good-sized thing, as big as a dinner plate, but the red head stared down at it like she was ready to eat the whole thing right then and there. He would've paid to see that happen. "Okay, heat it up first. They're still warm, but could be a little warmer," Natasha instructed, already shifting to turn on the oven and unpack the other pies. "As they warm up, you and I can make a nice salad, deal?"

"Deal."

They moved together well on the battlefield, and in the kitchen, they were no different – dancing around each other without thought, and effortlessly completing tasks in sync with the other. As they moved, the red head teaching him how to core certain vegetables and how best to cut others, the rest of the team slowly trickled into the room, each drifting towards the counter subconsciously.

The conversation was nice enough, light and teasing, but there was the underlying tension of concern thick in the air. Bruce was sending him worried looks on the downlow, glancing through his glasses at the right angles, but Steve had _zero_ ability to hide anything. His blue eyes were wide and watery, like he expected the billionaire to keen over and die of a broken heart at any second. It was devastating to see, and even worse to cause. He almost wanted to hug the damn man, pat his head and tell him everything was going to be okay.

It would be a lie, but heck, the blond didn't need to know that small detail.

" – all I'm saying is that, what, five more seconds and the damn bastard would've pissed his pants," Clint crowed, taking a healthy swig from his bottle and chuckling at the captain's expression. "Your big blues are a dangerous thing, my friend. You could convince a man to give up a kidney with them, but you could also scare the shit outta the baddest asshole we come up against. It's a talent, be proud."

Steve shook his head, smiling bashfully in that charming way that made women melt. "They're only eyes," he defended, looking to the others like they'd argue with him rather than against him. "Natasha can _talk_ someone into giving up their kidney, does that count?"

Now every eye shot to the red head, who only shrugged in disinterest. "Tony can _charm_ anybody into giving up their kidney."

Tony looked up from the counter at his name, realising with a start that he was now the centre of attention. It wasn't a new occurrence, attention was his middle name, but the pull to his gut told his mind he didn't like it. "Why would I want someone's kidney?" he grunted, mixing the salad furiously under multiple eyes. "I don't need to borrow one, I'll make one. Ironkidney."

Steve managed a frown. "That…" he shifted, brow coming down. There was a shared look with the others, but he wasn't sure what was said between the superheroes. The blond made a sound and shrugged. "He wins?"

"I usually do," Tony murmured quietly, barely loud enough to be heard. "Come on guys, at the table. I'm starving."

Like before everyone seemed to move like waves, around each other without notice, shifting to accommodate one another with little more than a smile or quick glance. It spoke volumes about how far they'd come as a team since the invasion, how they'd become more of a family then some crime fighting, kick ass group of superheroes. The realisation made his chest loosen a little, let him breathe a little easier, and he let out a sigh.

He always had these guys. Bruce would never leave them, too scared to live in the crowds or even in the wilderness. Steve wouldn't, he only knew them, and was painfully shy around new people if the intention was friendship rather than negotiation. Tony wasn't going to bother mentioning the wonder twins – it didn't matter who gave their pay checks, not when _he_ had their loyalties – and a certain blond god was away from his level more than he used it. But he still had a team, he still had friends, he still had people to keep him safe and sane.

They were laughing about something now, tucking into the pies and salad with vigour as they traded stories and insults. Tony watched them with interest, barely noticing food was slipping on his plate without his permission. These people were his _friends…_

Tony swallowed thickly, using his fork to spear a tomato wedge. There were rules in friendship, especially in ones as strong as theirs, and that meant there was something he needed to do. He let out another sigh – this was why he usually kept to himself, happy and alone in his workshop, he didn't have to bother with _telling the truth_ or _spilling the beans_ then. He also didn't have to bother with sanity.

"Hey, you okay?"

Brown eyes glanced to the side, taking in the warm concerned smile. "Um," Tony frowned, rolling his shoulders back. "I was thinking about… um, shit," he chuckled weakly, shaking his head. "Well, I was thinking."

Bruce nodded in understanding. "Quinn?" was all he asked.

The genius didn't bother tensing up at the name, didn't bother showing offence. He only hummed in agreement and shoved the vegetable past his lips, buying some time to think as he chewed. How the hell did you tell your deepest darkest secret? How the hell did you make it make _sense_ to someone else?

"You said…" Natasha started, helping him out with needing to be prompted. "You said she was there when you made the suit, _but_ you didn't add her to any of the reports? Why did you leave her out like that? Did you have a reason, or…?"

Tony grimaced. "You guys showed up later, so I had a while to think up the report I wanted to tell you," he admitted slowly, knowing he would receive some backlash, even if it was only through their disappointment. "There are bits I trimmed out, and some bits I played up. It was – I only wanted – " He couldn't help but let out another sigh. "I guess sometimes I was trying to save my own ass, save my pride, you know?"

Natasha gave a soft sound. "So, no one knows the whole story then?"

"No one but me," Tony said in lieu of agreement. "But I guess it's time to share, huh? Okay kids, settle down. It's story time." From the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha opened her mouth and – " _Don't you dare,"_ the billionaire hissed through his teeth.

* * *

 **Heya heya heya!**

 **How are my lovelies? It's nice to see some familiar faces, and of course, it's nice to see some new ones. I hope this is fulfilling your expectations for the story? My first few chapters are always so forced and awkward – to me at least – because I'm trying so hard to make sure they're perfect. I always have to go back and turn on that sarcastic, humorous side and slowly add in tidbits here and there.**

 **Tony Stark is no easy character to write – but I think I've got him down :)**

 **Taila xx**


	5. Stories

It was when someone brought out the ice-cream – plopping an entire container before him, spoon in tow – that he realised he was lucky to have these people as his friends. But it was when he saw them with their own containers, features solemn as they readied themselves to share his pain, that he realised he was lucky to have thesepeople as his _family_.

He was lucky to have a family, and families didn't keep secrets. _He could do this._

Tony stabbed at the tub with his spoon, digging up some chocolate before throwing it back. "You guys already know about Yinsen?" he checked, peering up long enough to catch their nods. "Okay, cool um – okay so, I will… start at the beginning? Yeah. Okay, so I went to a weapon showing out in the middle of the _fucking desert_ , remind me never to do that again, and uh…"

The words stopped coming, like the floodgates in his mind had slammed closed on the confession. Maybe… maybe he _couldn't_ do this? It wasn't something he'd ever shared – not with his own mind, and not with another living person.

The genius took a deep breath in, feeling it rattle nervously in his lungs as he thought over his options.

Beside him, Natasha blinked curiously, sensing the uncertainty. "Jericho, right?" she questioned, eyes glazed as she remembered reading the name somewhere. He wondered if she noticed the butterscotch cream smeared over her lips. "The Jericho missile?"

"That's the one…" Tony finally brought the spoon to his lips, pleased the chocolate tasted as good as he'd been told. "After the presentation, I was riding with these soldiers – they were great people, managed to put up with me," he smiled weakly, swallowing and wincing at the cold burning down his throat. "I was posing for a picture one second, and the next I was on the ground with a gun in my hand, shooting at someone I couldn't see. Those great soldiers were dead, but luckily, I was still alive. Alive to create _more_ weapons, to kill _more_ soldiers."

The bitter words made every occupant of the table wince, and it almost felt like the temperature in the room plummeted.

It might've only been his head thinking the cold memories meant a cold reality. It might've only been his body remembering that cave, remembering how some nights they'd almost frozen while others they'd sweat rivers, and reacting accordingly. It might'vebeen _anything_. But even when he shivered violently, everybody shivered with him, even when he rubbed at the goosebumps on his arm, he saw a certain captain mimic him absently.

Tony watched the blue eyes mist over, lost to thoughts and memories of their own but not avoiding the ones stifling the room. If – even if he'd lost _her,_ if he'd lost something he'd barely realised he'd had, at least he had his team, right?

Steve looked up, almost like he heard the thought, and gave a hesitantly bright smile.

Tony swallowed, words sticking in his throat. "Honestly, I don't remember much. I remember there was a missile, with my name painted on it," he frowned, torn between laughing at the irony or screaming from the echoes of pain. "But you know what happened next. Boom, shrapnel, magnet."

Clint, dramatically draped over both the dining chair and the table, snorted. "Dude, you actually kinda _suck_ at story time," he complained, reaching over to steal some dessert from the others. He was never stopped, and when it was his turn, the billionaire held out his tub in invitation. "It needs more explosions, maybe a good car chase and – and wow, so I only just realised how insensitive that is, I apologize."

Tony snorted, chuckling before he realised he'd even opened his mouth. "Really?"

"I apologized, so shut it."

The billionaire rolled his eyes skywards – he'd had a tally chart, but he'd long since lost track – and went back to nervously recounting his tale. It was strange, not wanting to speak, when usually it was his favourite way to pass the time. "Anyway, uh, the next few days were a mess. I barely remember anything. It's like trying to remember a night where you're so wasted you can't even walk straight. Like my brain is blocking it… or something…"

Natasha stayed surprisingly quiet at his side, a silent angel that spoke only using her brows and hands. He didn't really speak the language of the super spy, but he understood enough to nod and straighten out his shoulders. Her lips opened in an approving smile.

Tony held the eye contact, holding it like a lifeline. "Yinsen explained it all when I woke up, and predictably I hated it," he continued quietly, clearing his throat when the name caught. "But within a minute, it became the most important thing in my life. The magnet, and the car battery keeping it active, were the only things keeping me alive, but I couldn't find it. It wasn't nearby me, and when I tried to find it, turning on the bed – boom."

"Boom?" Clint perked up. "Another explosion?"

Tony groaned. "No, you turd blossom – _Quinn Daniels_. That kinda boom," he corrected, letting the words sink in as he took another bite of cold chocolate. "I turned around, and she was holding the battery so I wouldn't dislodge it if I panicked. Quinn only knew me as the rich bastard who had shrapnel in his chest, but she still watched out for me when I couldn't. It says a lot about her, huh?"

"It does." The fingers that grabbed his hand were cool, the heat leeched by the tub. "What did she look like?" Natasha asked softly, genuinely interested.

It was an easy, but still somehow pained question, and the genius struggled for a few silent seconds. "Quinn she, she uh, was barely an inch shorter than me," he listed, bowing his head in a nod. "Long brown hair, not really dead straight but not really curly either and – and probably the biggest eyes you'll ever see. You think our dear captain could get a kidney with his, she could get world peace, I mean…"

Someone nudged his side. "I can practically see the anime hearts in _your_ eyes now," Bruce teased. "What else? Long lashes? Bowed, full lips?"

Tony glared without heat, flicking some melted chocolate his way. "Stop," he scolded. "I'll have you know she _did_ have long lashes, and somewhat of a prominent cupid's bow, but I am not making her up. If you think she seems too perfect, I guess I just…" He shook his head, staring down at the barely touched tub of dessert in front of him. "I didn't really see any flaws, you know?"

"Can you guys see the little birds flying around his head too?" Clint mock whispered, laughing when the genius threw his spoon across the table. "Oh, come on, you can't blame me. You're smitten, Stark, and you know it."

 _Yeah, I do._

Tony was happy they were making jokes, happy they were making him laugh, because he would've started sobbing if they hadn't. He would've stared into the distance, remembered blue eyes and lost his mind like he had so many nights before.

But he had to get this over and done with. Dragging it out would only make the break down he had later that much worse.

The genius rubbed at his eyes, fighting against the light sting there. "Quinn's family was murdered," he announced, not even flinching when the laughter died and the others paled. He was happy they made jokes, but at the same time he hated it. He hated they could laugh over the fact she was dead, and it was _his_ fault. "The fucking bastards were field testing my weapons, probably making sure every shipment was functioning. They hit a small town, and when they were finished, there was nothing but dust and… and her, I guess? I never did find out how she survived, but I didn't care at that point."

That light was back in the red heads eyes, the same one that usually made his insides twist, but he didn't have the time to worry. Natasha could plot and scheme all she wanted. He was busy enough with his own mind, let alone hers.

"How did she help with the suit? Engineer?" Bruce wondered, pushing his tub towards a certain archer. It kept him quiet. "Hell, fashion designer?"

Tony shook his head. "Uh, she was studying biology actually," he said slowly, remembering the passion she'd held for the topic. "But uh, shit, it was a subtype? I think it was genetics she was interested in, maybe? I'd asked why, but she said it was a personal thing."

Bruce lifted a brow. "How _did_ she help then?"

"Moral support," Tony shrugged, not interested in his dessert but not willing to put it away. "I would've been damn happy to die in that fucking cave, but if I so much as _thought_ about giving up, she'd slap my wrists and get me back on track. Quinn gave me the drive, the motivation, and the rest is history, I guess," he finished, scooping up chocolate and pushing it past his lips. "Because of her, I wanted to get away."

Natasha gave a lazy smile. "Sounds like we all owe her a big debt," she drawled, still munching away but much slower now. "If you weren't here, our lives would be quiet, peaceful, relaxed. How terrible."

He'd appreciated the laughter before, but now it was making him bristle. "Yeah, how terrible," Tony muttered quietly.

The red head seemed to be get the hint, smile dying into something placating. "Just so the others know, why don't you tell them how she died?" she asked lightly, wincing dramatically and cooing. "I don't mean to make you talk about it, but they need to know."

Tony eyed the woman, watching the way she smiled soothingly, one hand gripping his wrist and her eyes as inviting as she could make them. It took him three beats to recognize he was being treated with a care that bordered on nervous by the woman, and only two for him to recognize the anger coursing through his veins. _Fucking brilliant_.

He _knew_ what this meant. It meant they were going to spend the next few days, maybe weeks, treating him like he was either broken or a child – because apparently the first time they did it, after the invasion, wasn't enough.

Because apparently the first time he'd snapped and started _screaming_ wasn't enough.

Tony rapped his knuckles on the table, feeling something dark bite at his tongue. "They shot her during our escape," he announced, voice thick. "Do you know what a stomach wound can do to a person? It can damage organs, blood vessels, maybe even the spine, but they're not fatal. If I'd gotten to her in time, she could've survived. If I'd stopped gaping and staring, and _moved_ , the second bullet never would've hit her, or the third."

Natasha retreated quicker than if he'd punched her, or pulled out a gun. Not that he minded, her hand was clammy now. "Tony, maybe you should – "

He could remember her eyes, wide and pleading as they'd drifted up from the blood covered tank top to find him. Quinn had been terrified, and she'd look to him because he'd been protecting her since he woke up, looked to him because he was meant to help. But how was he meant to stop _death_?

Tony glanced up, daring them to run away when he leaned closer and smiled softly, eyes burning. "Did I ever tell you about the water torture? They would force my head under the water, and when I felt a few seconds away from fainting, they would let me up – but never long enough to get more than a quick gasp. I hated it, and now I hate showering, and bathing, and the pools, and the beach," he listed, clearing his throat and clenching his teeth. He knew the tears were slipping, were dripping down, but he laughed because if he didn't, he'd sob. "It's funny because I hated it, I would do anything to make them stop, but if they so much as _looked_ at her, I would insult them and rile them up until they resorted to it. You guys know what the lowest of humanity do to beauty, they destroy it, and I couldn't bear the thought of what could've happened."

"Tony, please, I don't think you – "

"Quinn never told me if they did anything before I arrived," Tony realised, frowning at the thought. He'd tried to protect her, really had, but what about those times where he'd been gone and they came. He knew they'd tried to find her when he was under the water. "I always thought they must've, I mean, she was beautiful, so, _so_ beautiful and they..." he let the sentence die, heart pounding. "Yinsen never answered me, if I asked, he'd only give me a sad smile."

Natasha grabbed his hand again, squeezing tightly, and he turned to her, licking his suddenly and achingly dry lips. "Tony, sweetie, you wanna breathe for me, just once, real quick?" she asked softly, drawing patterns on the back of his hand. "Just once, and then you can go back into it."

Tony took in a deep breath, his throat burning. "They were never careful with me, and they _needed_ me, so what did they do to her?" he asked in a quiet whisper, doubling over and begging for an answer. "They would try to _drown_ me, and I was important. What would they do to the person who wasn't important? What would they have done to her if I hadn't stopped them?"

"That doesn't matter because you stopped them," Natasha reminded him. "You were there, and you took care of her."

Tony whimpered, understanding he was panicking but not able to do much about it. "Natty, she's dead, and I couldn't stop it _. I_ _couldn't stop it."_

Natasha tugged him closer, tucking him under her chin like she would a child, hand smoothing down his back. It should've made him feel embarrassed, mortified, but he was thankful he had someone nearby to comfort him. "I told you, didn't I? I told you that you needed to talk about this…"

"I could never find her body. I wanted to find her, to bury her with her family, but I couldn't? I looked but I couldn't even do that…" Tony continued babbling, absently smelling the woman's rich shampoo and feeling a broad hand encompass his shoulder. It was either the captain or the scientist, but he didn't care. The hand wasn't holding him back, or holding him down, so he didn't bother with it. "I found Yinsen, blackened and bloodied, but why couldn't I find _her?"_

Steve was the one nearby, seeing as his voice was louder than the others. "You tried, Tony, and she would no doubt be proud you did that much," he promised quietly, moving from gripping his shoulder to rubbing his back. "I, uh, I never found Bucky's body – and I looked, just like you did. If I wasn't looking, then I demanded teams be out there instead of me. I wasted days and thousands of dollars' worth of resources."

Tony peered over, meeting blue eyes. "I wasted _weeks_ …"

The super soldier, as invested in his team as he was, looked like he wanted to cry as well – blue tinted and shimmering. "You're a damn loyal man," he praised idly, and then his smile took on an uncertain edge. "Sometimes I wish I'd fought alongside you instead of Howard. Even without your suit, you would've been a damn good Howling Commando, and Buck would've loved you. But uh," he chuckled, wrinkling his nose. "But at the same time, if you had, you wouldn't be here now. The world would be in terrible shape without you, pal, _we_ would be in terrible shape without you."

The words, delivered in a smooth and deep voice, helped him calm down, helped him find oxygen and he let out a sigh. "It would've been fun," he allowed, shrugging as much as he could while tucked safely against the woman. "Tearing down the bastard Red Skull."

Steve grinned. "Heck yeah," he exclaimed, shifting his chair so he was facing the man full on. "Howard ever tell you about our escapades? We spent about three years taking down bases left and right, so there were a few, but I think you'll like this one. There was a mission, back in the summer of '44, and we infiltrated this base, yeah? Anyway, Buck and I, we got in from – "

Tony barely even flinched when the red head untangled her arms from his own, leaning back against his chair with a simple-minded fascination. He had heard hundreds of stories from his father, none the same, but never one from the lips of the hero they surrounded.

It was probably a once in a life time chance actually, since the blond hated speaking about the past…

Wiping at the dried tears, he started spooning the ice cream past his lips, paying rapt attention to the way the blond waved his hands around. Steve told stories in the best way, with lots of movement, lots of dramatic action and he was even doing different _voices_. The genius almost felt like a child, wide eyed and amazed, but he couldn't have cared less in that moment, not with tears still burning and the memories fresh in his mind. He was allowed to lose a few years in the maturity department, he had a hall pass, and – and oh god, Steve was making his dad sound like a dying goat, this was _brilliant._

Tony laughed at something the blond said, and that was enough to distract him, enough to ensure that he didn't pay attention to the others. Bruce seemed happy to listen, somehow nursing a cup of tea – it had come out of nowhere, he was pretty sure that was the man's superpower – but the others snuck away.

He probably should've worried about that knowing gleam to the red head's eyes.

* * *

It would probably be a dead-end. It would probably make the genius damn _furious_ if he ever found out – and as icing on the cake, it would probably get them in deep shit if their boss ever found out. It could do any or all of those things, but they was still going to do it.

Natasha licked her lips, tapping against the keyboard with a low hum. "When was he gone, you think? It was about six what? Thirty? Twenty?"

Clint grunted back, leaning against the doorway with a feigned casualness as he apparently basked in his role as lookout. It wasn't like he was watching for _threats_ , not really, but more watching for their allies. The team would disapprove of their actions and the blatant invasion of privacy, without a doubt – but they wouldn't be punished for it, at least not out rightly.

Disappointment was all they had to fear from their teammates – and a no doubt _petty_ revenge from a certain resident billionaire – but even that wasn't enough to deter them. Bruce could give some mean stink eye when he wanted, sure, but they'd long since grown immune.

 _Hopefully._ They'd _hopefully_ long since grown immune.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at the cameras on screen, staring down the entrance to the shop. "I can't see him," she grumbled, biting back frustration and peeking out over her shoulder. "This is the right place, isn't it? On the corner?"

The archer was still steadfastly watching her back, glaring down the hallway, and didn't need to meet her eyes to know he was being watched. His birdy senses were probably tingling. "When did you go to pick him up?" Clint questioned absently.

The red head shrugged lightly, tugging out her phone to check the time he'd called. "It says he rang me at six…" she sighed, finding the symbol indicating an incoming call. "Forty-seven? He wasn't gone _that_ long, so I might start watching from six onwards…" It only took her a second to find the time stamp, and she sped up the video, religiously waiting until a dark head appeared. "There. Found him."

Clint couldn't hide the curiosity now, tearing his eyes away from the hallway. "Yes, but we're not looking for him, are we?" he murmured sarcastically, backing away and shutting the door. The lock clicked into place with an odd sense of finality. "We wanna see who got his attention."

Natasha waved the archer closer, and together they watched the man wander among the vegetables, grabbing random things while also managing to keep the phone safely tucked against his ear. "He should see her any minute now…" she informed him, slowing the video and then pausing it when the man went frighteningly still. "There. That had to be the moment, which means he saw her at six twenty-eight. I'll bring up the other cameras, and boom."

"The Quinn Daniels kinda boom?" the archer chuckled, mocking the words from barely an hour before. Their amusement didn't last once the other screens popped up, showing the rest of the store but not their target. Clint let out a frustrated sound. "What am I even looking for here?"

Natasha hummed. "You heard him waxing poems, didn't you? Brown hair, shorter, I'm guessing rather small, petite…" she listed, tapping her nails against the desk top. They were in the security room for the whole tower, something warm and homely made for both the agents by the resident billionaire. It was their safe haven, a home within a home, and she'd never been more thankful for it then now. "Wait, who the hell is that?"

Clint frowned and leaned even closer, nose almost touching the screen. "I don't know but she's a brunette, and she looks tiny as hell?" he snorted, rubbing his eyes and looking again. "Fuck that's a grainy ass image. Press play, I wanna see if she sees him. Her reaction could tell us more than we'd ever need to know."

Natasha obeyed, watching with more hope than she cared to admit. "Okay, there, shit – " she stammered, slamming down to pause the video, hand coming up to point at the woman's features. The video quality was poor, but the panic was written clear as day. "She's seen him, if that face is anything to go by. That's not the expression of a girl disgusted by the random staring guy. That's fear."

Clint blinked, and a flash of something almost _relieved_ hit his eyes. "She recognized him."

"It wasn't a hallucination, and it wasn't some trick of the light," Natasha realised, not sure if she was amazed or disturbed. "I _knew_ it didn't make any sense. How could she survive a bloody missile, but not survive a few bullets?" she laughed, leaning back and cupping her lips. "Quinn Daniels is still alive."

The archer leant back with a whistle. He should've been surprised but he didn't have the strength anymore – not with his line of work. "But now we gotta find her," he pointed out, tapping the screen. "And judging by that look, she won't make it easy. If she ran away any faster she would've broken the sound barrier."

Natasha snorted at the comment, clicking her tongue. "So, you're thinking we should then? Find her, I mean," she wondered, leaning back in the comfortable chair and meeting familiar eyes. "I admit, I don't think he'll ever get over her death, the blame is obviously something he's decided to shoulder, but will bringing her back make it better, or worse? There's gonna be questions. Why didn't she look for him? Why was she scared to see him? _Why didn't she die?"_

"That's the _really_ big one."

The red head managed a chuckle, hand coming up to sweep back her bangs. "The video quality is shit, we can't use it," she pointed out, swallowing momentary defeat. "CCTV, maybe? If she stays on the streets we might be able to follow her back to her work, or maybe back to where she lives?"

Clint quirked up a brow, arms folded against his chest. "Or you could type her name into the database? SHIELD has something on _everyone_."

Natasha made an agreeing sound. "I still have to give my report on our latest battle against Doom," she remembered, staring at the grainy images. "Phil will probably start nagging me soon anyway, so I might give it the finishing touches and travel to Washington tomorrow. I'll spin a tale about wanting to go on a road trip, and take one of the cars. It'll win me some time. Hopefully, I can find some answers."

"If anything happens," Clint started, squeezing her shoulder. "I'll cover for you."

"If anything happens, you better find that woman and avenge me," Natasha corrected. "Also, make sure I get buried in my catsuit."

The archer gave an obedient chuckle, wandering back to the doorway and taking up his role as lookout once again. It would only take her a few seconds to clear the history, to erase any sign they'd been poking around in some innocent corner stores security, then they could return to story time and act like they'd never left. Steve was busy calming down the panicking genius anyway, so the only one most likely to notice was successfully distracted.

"So, I can't help but notice that you and Tony are getting rather close," Clint teased, smiling warmly her way. "It's nice to see you making friends, Nat. It's also nice to see that mother hen come out – you cuddling him was so damn adorable, I think I got a cavity. I _know_ I snapped a photo, but still unsure about dental."

Natasha glared. "I was not _cuddling_ him, I was comforting him. The damn man was having a panic attack, and – " she growled, picking up the nearest item and throwing it with her all might. "I am not a mother hen, I'm a good friend. Learn the difference and delete the damn photo."

Clint yelped, ducking to avoid what would've been a pen holder to the head. "I will not," he declared with a squeak, straightening up and wiping an imaginary crease from his shirt. "Phil is always going on about _good publicity_ – a photo of you comforting him would make so many headlines. I can see it now."

"It may make a headline, but it wouldn't make the front page. Mostly because your untimely death would."

Clint blew out a raspberry. "Pssh, no one cares if we _die_ , but they do care about cute things. Reporters have priorities, you know," he announced, leaning against the doorway with pursed lips. "That's why the fight we had last week wasn't the main article. The kitten who sneezed and farted at the same time clearly deserved the limelight. I mean, did you watch the video on their website? Laughing that hard did _not_ help my bruised ribs, let me tell you…"

Natasha sighed.

* * *

 **I was nervous I wouldn't get this up, but damn, look at me go! I want to apologize in advance, in case next week's chapter doesn't hit the presses at my usual update time. I'm going through a few things right now, and I'm so tired, it's unbelievable. But I will try my damnest to get it up, I promise.**

 **Love yah**

 **Taila xx  
P.S I got this up on monday, but fanfiction wasn't sending out the update emails? I've been reposting it until it finally sent**


	6. Planning

Natasha was an incredibly fast learner.

It was one of the many, _many,_ things that made her the perfect assassin – when she saw something, she remembered it, and when she saw something more than once, she formed associations. It seemed simple enough, sure, yet few people could do it.

It was one thing to know what the infamous _cause and effect_ entailed, but another to recognize and catalogue it. You might see someone you care about shower every day after work, but not connect it with the conversation you'd both had about her handsy co-worker. You might help someone at work, someone who asks how best to hide bruises, but not connect her words with the violent flinch she gives at seeing her partner.

Everything had a cause, and so everything had an effect.

Tony had had fifteen nightmares in the past month – yes, she'd both counted _and_ noticed – but the large majority had been in the last two weeks. Four times they clearly hadn't been too bad; he'd only upped his caffeine for the day but functioned as normal. Then twice he'd been distracted, distant, but he'd still be present in reality – an average nightmare, and only something that would kill his smile, rather than his boundless sarcasm.

That left nine strikes. That left nine nights that he hadn't been simply disturbed or uncomfortable, but _terrified_. That left nine mornings and days where he'd locked the door to his workshop behind him, where he'd only eaten because someone had forced the food down his throat. That left nine nights where he'd refused to go back to his room, like he feared the nightmares were solid, patiently waiting for him like a lover sprawled out across the covers.

Those were what she called the bad ones.

Tony would never admit it though, and that was the problem. It's hard to help someone who doesn't want to be helped, and the genius was above both _asking_ _for_ or _accepting_ a helping hand. He also happened to be a classic denier _._ If he noticed her eyes on his coffee cup, or _her nose in his business_ as he liked to say, then he'd deny any notion that something was wrong. He'd go on the defence.

 _Nightmares? What the hell are you talking about? Has all that red hair dye gone to your head? I'm in my workshop because I have work to do, and repairs to make – and I need the coffee for energy! What are you trying to do? Make our next mission a disaster? Oh, the audacity… the horror…_

Natasha almost rolled her eyes, striding into the kitchen with a sharp glance around the room. It was almost like she could hear his voice sounding in her head, the low tones squawking in indignation. "Steve? Hey," she called gently, coming close enough to smell his shampoo. "Have you seen Tony around at all?"

The super soldier frowned, straightening up from where he was hunkered over a bowl of – fruit loops? Damn. Clint had gotten to him. "Tony? Uh, no, no I haven't?" he apologized, pushing his breakfast away in concern. "I've noticed he's taken to running on the treadmill down in the gym lately. He either does quick bursts, or dangerously long runs, and glares at the pool the whole time. I think it's about the… the water torture…"

Natasha faltered – she _hadn't_ noticed that – and watched the man pale slightly, feeling a little sick to her stomach at the thought as well. "It's not the weirdest thing he's ever done," she argued slowly, coming forward to press her hand to a sculpted bicep. "Thanks, I'll go have a look."

Steve bowed his head in reply, but the small smile thanked her for the support.

Natasha hurried into the elevator and pressed the button for the communal gym, tapping her foot despite the almost frightening speed it climbed down the building. He was glaring at the pool, huh? It wasn't _surprising_ – the man was nice and loud about his dislike for large bodies of water – but it was new. It was something she'd have to keep an eye on.

The elevator opened with a chime, and she stepped out, head already curiously flicking around. "Tony?" she called, padding further into the room. The steady and almost rhythmic pounding of both heavy metal and running feet played as a honing beacon, and she followed it, wincing as the music grew louder.

Tony didn't seem to hear the calls, grey tank top soaked through with sweat and attention somewhere else.

It wasn't too hard to get the volume turned down – to gesture towards the ground with a thumb, and then block her ears. Jarvis was smart enough to get the hint, and the music dropped to nothing more than murmur, the screaming efficiently silenced. Almost as soon as it lowered, the genius was turning his head, trying to find who the hell had interrupted his workout.

Tony didn't give her the light of day. "Yeah?"

The woman moved forward, coming in front of the treadmill and ensuring she had his attention. It seemed that brown eyes weren't glaring this time, but fixated a few feet ahead, blurred and out of focus. "I've been looking for you all morning," she announced gently, catching the exhausted lines in his features. "Just wanted you to know I'm pinching one of your cars, and heading into Washington. I need to hand in my report."

"We have the internet, you know?" Tony panted, each word punctuated with a pounding step. "Coulson has an email address."

Natasha gave a weak shrug, letting a smile flower on her lips. "I guess I wanna go for a drive," she allowed, wrinkling her nose. "I don't know. I think I want some time to just breathe? Get away from all of this for a few hours. It'll do me some good."

Tony pulled a face, wiping sweat from his brow before it could sting his eyes. "If it'll help you, then sure, steal a car," he mumbled, barely heard over even the quiet screeching of his favourite band. It was almost like he didn't want the world to hear that he could be kind. "The keys to the black convertible are on my bedside table. I went for a drive last night. Guess I wanted some time to breathe too."

He'd left the tower last night? How had she not noticed?

Natasha nodded. "Great, I'll use the convertible then, if you don't mind. I'll be back before it gets too late," she promised, coming around to check the heads up display on the treadmill. "Don't run for too long, remember. Even Steve will stop after an hour…"

Tony grunted, and like that she knew the conversation was over.

* * *

 _Tony gave a warm chuckle, absently checking over every part of soldered metal. "Okay, I admit I was wrong," he allowed, peering up into pale eyes. "Go on, give me another scenario. I'll get this one right, promise."_

 _Her legs swinging to an unheard beat, the woman hummed. "You want another one?" Quinn questioned, one brow dancing up. "Are you sure your pride can handle more defeat?" she teased, wrinkling her nose when he flicked a screw her way. "Okay, okay. How about this then – a man went to a party, and he drunk some of the punch. He left early, and everyone at the party who drunk the punch died later that night. Why did he not die?"_

 _Leaning back on his haunches, he pulled his brow down, thinking hard on the question. "The poison was put in by a guest who hadn't arrived?" he wondered, peeking up to see her reaction. Her eyes flashed, and he quickly backtracked. "No, no, that's not it…"_

 _Quinn gave him an indulgent smile, canting her head to the side._

 _That look alone – a innocently quirked brow, mischievous eyes and slightly coloured cheeks – made him determined to beat the riddle, mind telling him he had to impress the woman by solving the tricks. It was probably some stupid male thing, brain demanding he show he was smart and make the pretty lady like him, but he didn't care. Quinn would smile either way, whether he got it right or wrong, but he liked the spark her eyes would gain when he was correct. If he was right, it meant she needed to up her game, and she always adored a challenge._

 _Probably why she liked him so much. He was nothing if not challenging._

 _Tony watched her as he thought, studying the way she blinked in the semi darkness and fiddled with her wrists. They were still smattered with bruises, purple and yellow from when the assholes had grabbed her too harshly the day before. "The ice?" he wondered._

 _Quinn looked up in surprise, seemingly shocked he'd spoken aloud. "Pardon me?" she asked lightly, amusement coming back to hide the exhaustion in her eyes. Her hands fell away, safely tucked under her thighs, and he instantly knew what she'd been thinking about. "Sorry, I was somewhere else."_

 _Tony bowed his head in a nod. "Yeah, I know," he said slowly, hoping she'd understand the undercurrent to his words. Judging by the way her eyes darkened, scooting to stare at the shadows rather than at him, she'd picked up on it. "I said it was the ice. The toxin was in the ice, and it took time for it to melt, so it took time for the poison to infect the punch."_

 _The woman lit up, and that – that was the spark he was starting to adore. "You really are quite the genius, aren't you?" she mused, smiling softly._

" _Yes, I am," he muttered quietly, giving the metal in his hands a hurried look over before deeming it perfect – or at least as perfect as it was gonna get. Tony swallowed, thrusting out the small gift with an awkward smile. "Here. I made this for you."_

 _Quinn's lips tugged into a frown. "I thought you were working on the suit?" she whispered, checking the door for threats like it was second nature. Even as she spoke, her hands came out to carefully cradle the smoothed metal. "Thank you? I can't quite tell what it is though? Is this a handle, and they look like – " Pale eyes brightened again, and her mouth opened to let out a delighted laugh. "It's a comb!"_

 _Tony couldn't help but grin. "You were complaining about how matted your hair was getting," he reminded her, fingers coming up to tug once at her dark locks. There was a sleek shine from grease covering the roots, her bangs knotted and haphazardly pushed behind her ears. "I thought it would help."_

 _The woman was already working the simple comb through her hair, wincing whenever it caught. "It's perfect, thank you!" she gushed, wiggling happily as she started fixing the mess. "Now all I have to do is convince them to let us bathe more than once every few weeks."_

" _I'd rather wait until we get out," Tony shuddered, mind flashing to the two baths they'd had in the past five weeks. "I get that they think they're rewarding us for good behaviour by letting us wash up, but they're really not. It's dirty water, the soap is older than I am, and they watch you the entire time. I would rather sit in my own filth, then put on a show that doesn't earn me any cash."_

 _Quinn giggled, the sound young and girlish. He revelled in it. "I would hate to think how much you'd charge for such a show."_

 _Tony moved onto the suit now, cracking his neck and giving up a shit eating smile. "I'm the only person rich enough in this world to afford me," he admitted, nodding wisely, and laughing when the woman snorted. "But how about this? For you, darling, I'd lower the fee."_

" _Lower the fee…" Quinn pursed her lips, leaning forward and letting the comb sit ominously in her tangled locks. "You know I've got a good thing going for me back home, I make more money than I think you know," she teased, wrinkling her nose before the amusement fell flat. It was like watching a candle go out, blown out during a storm, and his heart fell. "Well, I had a good thing going for me."_

 _The genius bit his tongue against snapping, instead forcing his lips into the softest smile he could manage. "You're making it sound like we won't be getting out of here," he noted lightly. "Haven't I told you to trust me, queen?"_

 _Pale eyes rolled at his private endearment. "I'll trust you when I see that burger you promised to buy me," she countered._

 _Tony moulded the shape of the helmet with the hammer, studying the two blank holes and the dents in the silver. "You still remember that, huh?" he chuckled, shaking his head when his mind claimed the eyes had blinked. "Okay. What's your favourite burger place?"_

 _Quinn didn't blink, didn't even think. "Burger King," was the instant answer, the woman preening when he laughed at the speed. "I used to flat near one of them, back when I was studying at university. Practically lived on their cheeseburgers and sundaes during midterms, and also maybe when I wasn't doing exams, but oops? I'm a sucker for good, cheap food. Especially when I don't have to cook it."_

 _Tony brought the mask up to his face, peering through the facial plates and meeting blue green eyes. "Hmm, cheap? I thought you were making more money than I thought you were?" he mocked playfully, blowing a raspberry and hearing it echo against metal._

 _The woman reached out, tapping the dented silver in places and seeing how it fit against him. "You look intimating," she mused thoughtfully, smoothing a hand down the mask. "There's a difference between having money and spending it, Tony, but cheap or not I want one when we get out of here."_

" _Okay, first thing we'll do when we get out. Burger King," Tony decided, checking the reactor when his chest throbbed stubbornly._

 _When he looked back up, she was giving him his favourite smile, the one that pushed dimples into her cheeks and made her eyes shine. "I'll hold you to that."_

* * *

" – bother, because you're not actually listening, are you?"

Tony blinked back into reality, shaking away the memory with a forced smile. "Uh, yeah, sorry about that, I must've zoned out for a second," he excused, resisting the urge to scrub at his face. It felt like his eyes were burning, like keeping them open required _every damn ounce_ of strength his tired muscles had left. "Okay, I'm listening. Hit me."

The scientist stared back, one brow primly lifted – _gingersnaps is teaching him well, I see_ – and both hands folded against his chest. "Don't worry about it," Bruce allowed, going from stern to unbothered in a blink. "I've got it from here. Maybe go catch some sleep. I can get you when dinners ready, if you'd like?"

The mere _mention_ of closing his eyes made him snap to attention, spine straight and chin unconsciously lifted high. He was tempted by the notion, he wouldn't lie about the exhaustion lingering in his bones, but somehow, he was terrified at the same time. It wasn't that he was scared of what he'd see, but – but he was scared to wake up and be _disappointed._ Disappointed he was home rather than in a damp, dark cave. Disappointed his only company was the world instead of a beautiful brunette. Disappointed he was safe alive, rather than fighting for his life.

Because feeling disappointed he'd survived when two good people had died felt like an insult.

Tony swallowed down the mess of emotion, forcing a smile. It took more effort then he'd thought it would, but he was well versed in showing people exactly what they wanted to see. "I'm not tired," he lied, blinking hard. "Just..."

"Distracted?" Bruce offered a wan smile.

Tony somehow managed to keep the smile strong, despite the sudden stab beneath his ribcage. "Yeah, that's the one," he chuckled, the sound hollow but enough to make the other man minutely relax. "I'm still trying to sort through the suit, you know? The sooner I find out how Doom shut it down, the better. I don't wanna fight with it if I can't _trust_ it. It's freaky."

Bruce let out a grunt, his version of an enthusiastic agreement. "I know," he murmured, looking back to the paper – he didn't agree with technology when it come to creating and planning, it was disgusting – and thumbing through the piles. "Can you look at this for me? I'm trying to make a tranquiliser for the new arrow design you created. I need it to accurately adjust itself for whoever it's injected into. Accommodate for their weight, age, gender..."

Tony took the sheet. "No problemo, hulkerino..." he announced cheerfully, leaning back and beginning to slowly read the plans over. It took him far too long and he wasn't sure he actually understood what he was reading, but he handed the plan back over, nodding all the while. "Looks good to me."

"You sure?"

The carefully chosen words made him look up, distracted mind focusing enough to be worried. "I, uh, yeah?"

Bruce almost looked disappointed for a split second, his eyes narrowing. "The formulae are wrong," he muttered, screwing the sheet of paper into a ball. It was thrown across the workshop with little more than a glance, probably rolling under a table, never to be found again. "I made them wrong on purpose. I wanted to see how _distracted_ you really were, and – and you didn't disappoint. Tony, just tell me, are you okay?"

It was a simple question sure, but the answer was anything but. Tony winced, and his time he let the smile drown without a fight. "Tired. I don't like talking about… about _that_. It always makes the nightmares worse."

Bruce nodded. "That…"

"It's not too bad," Tony tried to sound cheery, perking up like he'd down caffeine. It didn't _work_ , but at least he put some effort into it. "I mean, it's gonna sound super gross – but it's kinda the only way I'll ever see her again anyway, you know? Just gotta try and look on the bright side or whatever," he frowned, padding across the workshop. The main console stared back at him, and he dug around in the mess of metal beneath it, pulling out a wide toothed comb. "Quinn made me happy. I should appreciate seeing her, even if it's only in nightmares."

Bruce hummed, coming up behind him. "That's not a healthy way to look at it," he confessed, reaching out like he wanted to touch the comb. His hand never made contact. "What's this?"

Tony smiled before he could stop the action. "I made it back in that damn cave, using nothing more than scrap metal and a blow torch," he bragged, running his fingers over the rough joins and the bumpy surface. "Trust me, compared to this, making the suit was easy. I never thought I'd met my match in a comb, but shit, this thing kicked my intelligently stubborn – and frankly, stunning – ass."

"Why go through so much trouble?" Bruce questioned, yawning into his hand. "Didn't seem worth it."

The genius shrugged. "Quinn was really proud of her hair," he announced carefully, fingering the metal. "Never dyed it, never straightened it or put products in it, tried to cut it as little as possible – you know, just tried not to meddle with it any more than she had too. The only thing she _did_ do was brush it as often as possible, and use this herbal shampoo crap to clean it."

Bruce nodded, understanding so much despite how little was said. "Pick that up when you went back?" he asked, wincing even as he voiced the question. "I mean, like, when you went back looking for her? Did you find it then? Actually, don't, don't answer that. I'm sorry I – "

Tony snorted so loudly it hurt his throat. "I am not fragile, my lean and green fury machine. Anyway, it's almost nice – talking about her, I mean."

There was another sheet of paper under his nose, the glasses wearing man passing it over without a thought. "Oh? Let's talk about her then. You said she was a biology major, right? Genetics and bloods? Did she ever tell you where she worked?" he questioned, tapping the paper once. "Read this over, will you?"

Tony obeyed, slumping into the nearest seat and lazily looking it over. "Quinn was smart. My genius girl studied at Stanford," he murmured, sniffing and wiping his nose distractedly. "Then I think she worked under a grant from them, studying shit like mutations in the blood lines. I don't think she ever said _what_ or _why_ exactly, but she mentioned she had ties in the subject. I didn't push it. Obviously made her uncomfortable."

Bruce tilted his head. "Interesting. Maybe she knew a mutant or an inhuman?"

Tony clicked his tongue. "Yeah, maybe," he shrugged, leaning closer with a frown. "Hey, this coding here. I'm no biologist or anything, but this doesn't make any sense, even to me. If you want it to conform to its host, this will never work. It'll be hardwired to a certain genetic code."

"What do you – ah, crap, okay," Bruce took the paper and leant back, fingers pushing up his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Thanks. I _knew_ something was wrong, but I couldn't..." he sighed, taking out an older fashioned ink pen, and scribbling a line through the equation. He instantly started making alterations in the space beneath it. "I'll deal with it. Anyway, did she ever show any strange abilities? Quinn, I mean."

With nothing in his hands now, the genius absently twiddled his thumbs. "Apart from being insanely beautiful?"

Bruce levelled him with an unimpressed look.

Tony grinned, snaking a hand over his lips. "No, Bruce, she didn't, but I didn't exactly watch her that closely. I mean, I _did_ , but – but hell she could've sprouted horns and started speaking Latin backwards and I wouldn't have noticed. If it didn't relate somehow to the cave or those bastards that kept us there, I tried not to think too hard on it. I always thought that I'd learn more about her when I got out, treated it like a reward, so to speak."

"You said… she survived your bombs?" Bruce wondered slowly. "You don't find it odd? That a town didn't survive, but somehow she did?"

Tony didn't even have the strength to feel annoyed. "Like I said before – I didn't think about it then."

"Then think about it now."

The billionaire faltered at the command, his genius mind suddenly racing at a thousand miles an hour. "That would be too easy," he grumbled, shifting awkwardly in his seat. "Immortality. I've never heard of that mutation before. It sounds like cheating."

Bruce shrugged, frowning as he looked down at the page. "Not necessarily _immortality_ ," he mused, fetching a clean sheet and stating his scribbling anew. "I just mean the ability to heal wounds. For all we know, sickness could still damage her systems. That would mean that eventually her body would decay, and she'd die like everybody else, but she wouldn't be killed by accidents or fights."

"The perfect soldier? I've heard this story before" Tony chuckled, wrinkling his nose. "I might get back to that damn suit of mine."

The genius wandered to the corner, rifling through the mess of technology and documents. His mind was already wandering to its own equations, head bobbing to some imaginary beat and fingers drumming against jean covered thighs. It felt better now that he'd spoken about the woman, like another weight had been taken from his chest. Tony hummed – he might as well take advantage of the clear head while it lasted…

Bruce watched the man wander away, practically seeing the moment when the billionaire fell into his own head. Trusting that he wouldn't be noticed, he fetched his phone, typing out a simple and quick text.

 _ **Natasha, I did what you said but he's not biting. He thinks it's too farfetched. Got a plan b? – B**_

* * *

 **Hey, believe it or not, I've not only posted a chapter but I have an excuse! I was recently diagnosed with both depression and anorexia nervosa, and these past couple of months have been very, very difficult, I'm not going to lie. I'm now safely on the road to recovery, I like to think, and I'm finally capable of sitting down and focusing on my work.**

 **This story is harder than others. I almost feel a connection to Quinn, and to the characters. I am extremely fussy with any work that I post or write for this story – because I really want to do these two justice. I hope you enjoy it.**

 **-Taila xx**


	7. Investigation

_"Test number two-three-zero-alpha is completed. Results are disconnected."_

The announcement cut through the air, and the woman paused, letting out a carefully measured breath. Disconnected– because _what else_ would it be? It had only taken away hours, _days_ , of her life in the past few weeks. It had only raised her hopes, making her work twice as hard and lose twice as much sleep. It had only controlled her being. It had only failed to pay her back.

Quinn swallowed, looking down to her gloved hands and the vials she juggled between them. The test she was doing now would be useless too, no doubt. It would demand another few hours of her time, and then punch her in the gut with another _disconnected._

Despite this, she finished shifting the liquid from beaker to microscope, already leaning closer to study it through the lens. "That's promising," she murmured, echoing the same words she seemed to say every time. Her hands came away, one shedding the glove and beginning to scribble wildly in a notebook. "Computer; test number two-three-zero-blue is showing similar strands to the alpha specimen. Further study needed. Prioritize."

" _Progress recorded. Test number two-three-zero-blue catalogued as main study."_

Quinn pulled back, narrowing her eyes slightly as she thought. Maybe this wasn't the way to go? Mutating blood lines to match the alpha specimen was tedious. Even if she did get it right on occasion, it would never be above a fifty percent accuracy and similarity. It would never give her a solid answer.

The woman sighed, throwing the used gloves away and storming towards the back room. "Skye?"

Platinum blond locks and pink headphones blinded her, the youth popping out from nowhere. "Yo, boss," she chirped, smile showing perfect white teeth and tinted chewing gum. "I finished the beakers, unloaded some supplies from the basement, pulled those files you wanted _and_ did a stock count. You were right, there's no back up on the – " heavily made up eyes dropped to the clipboard, " – uh, thirty gauge syringes?"

Quinn winced. "That's the company for you," she pulled a face, earning a wrinkled nose and giggle from the youth. "Just order more. Anyway, two-zero-three-alpha was a disappointment, so I've shifted focus. I need you to move any crap on the old study to the secondary lab for me, yeah?"

The youth pursed her lips. "Uh yeah, no sweat. I've finished up here anyway," she shrugged. "Hey, do I still have to that introductory or whatever?"

"The introductory on the new system?" Quinn wondered, brow coming down in curiosity. "Peter _should_ take you through it at some point before his apprenticeship ends, but you've got another week I think. There's no rush. Just get rid of the old study, do a quick sweep – do _not_ touch my active tests, you know the rules – and then rock on home. I won't need you for the rest of the afternoon."

Skye winked, already shifting so pink headphones covered her ears once more.

Recognizing that the conversation was over, the scientist moved towards the entrance, shucking away her lab coat. "See yah," she murmured, shouldering her way through the heavy doors. The guard stationed just beyond it gave her a simple nod, muttering something polite under his breath. It was probably the most she'd get from him. "See you tomorrow."

The guards head dipped in a nod.

Quinn gave a gentle smile back, not quite willing to push the man as she climbed inside the elevator. "Oh, shit wait, um," she winced, her mission reminding her she might _have_ to push a little more. "Have you seen that kid around? Parker, I think it was?"

The man shook his head. "Sorry, ma'am, no I haven't," he allowed, eyes flicking to the now closing elevator doors. "You have a good night."

The doors shut after the words, cutting their conversation – and her patience – short. Wow. Okay, so the apparently _topnotch_ security here at the company wasn't even capable of keeping track of who came in and out. It was so calming, really made her feel _safe_ in her workplace.

An almost silent chime alerted her to the doors reopening, and she sighed, striding out into the hallway and –

\- and walking right into crime scene?

Quinn quirked up a brow at the sight before her, curious about the small teenager hiding against the wall and the older male looming over him. It seemed like the boy she was looking for too; short mousy brown hair and scientifically hilarious pun shirts being the big giveaway. The older male though, she barely recognized – no doubt some lower level scientific assistant who thought he was the hot shit.

"Ah, Mr. Parker, you're just the man I wanted to see," she called out warmly, arms opening in an inviting gesture. Her voice forced them apart, and as she came closer, she spied the other man's name tag. "Leonard, is it? You're not bothering our little prodigy here, are you?"

 _Leonard_ gave a sharp smile. "No ma'am, just asking him when he's joining the team."

Peter looked between them nervously, seemingly unsure if the newcomer was a friend or foe. "I, uh, I'm not looking for employment?" he murmured, making it sound like a question, head shooting left and right. "I'm just using this apprenticeship to get the lowest qualifications I need for an internship with Stark Industries. AntiGen is just a stepping stone, I guess? Kinda?"

Quinn snorted out a laugh before professionalism could stop it, and the kid shot her a hopeful look, all big brown eyes and nervous smiles.

"Stark? Okay, listen up kid – "

Cutting in with a waved hand and a click of her tongue, the scientist shifted closer to the youth. "Leave him alone," she instructed smoothly, sounding both polite but also commanding. It was something she'd learnt during the past few years, usually from being the only young female in a room of board members – how to smile and charm but also demand _exactly_ what she wanted. "I mean, the kids got a point. There's a top to every ladder, and he wants to be there. Good on him."

Peter hummed in agreement, sneaking closer to her side. "I'm not saying they're better than here or anything," he hurried to sooth, both hands coming up in surrender before twitching nervously. "I mean – it's just the dream, you know?"

The assistant swallowed, his nose wrinkling. "Whatever you say, _Parker_."

As the man wandered away, they both let out a collective breath, laughing lightly at the tension he left behind. "Well, isn't he just a ray of sunshine," she drawled, winking once to the younger boy. The poor kid looked about three seconds from fainting, and she hurried to sooth him with both smiles and teasing words. "Why wouldn't you wanna work with that? You on your way out, I can keep you company?"

He looked relieved, no doubt seeing her as shield against more employees. "Thanks, that'd be cool," Peter allowed weakly. "You'd be saving me from more awkward conversations. I mean, if that's them trying to _employ_ me, I'd hate to see how they treat an actual employee. It's not promising," he murmured, frowning in the direction of the retreating assistant. "You work here? Are they nice to you or, like…"

Quinn gave a smooth quirk of her brow. "Uh, well, to be honest they're great to me," she admitted with a small chuckle, gesturing for the boy to start walking towards the front of the building. "But I'm in the higher levels, remember? They treat me well because they need my research."

Peter didn't seem to agree with that, his pouting lips frowning yet again. "That sounds kinda shitty? Why don't you leave?"

"Because I need the resources they offer me to do my research," she reminded him, swiping through her card before holding the door open. "It's something of an equal relationship. They pay me, and give me everything I need, and I keep giving them negative results. It's a win-win for everybody."

The youth grinned at that. "Love 'em and leave 'em?"

Quinn bowed her head, noting they were now at the entrance to the skyscraper they called their office. "That's the one kiddo," she shrugged, gesturing to the large glass planed doors. "I hope you get that internship you want, you're definitely smart enough for it. But even if you don't, come visit me and I'll buy you lunch. That new program you set up for me is brilliant, so I owe you one – especially since this goddamn company isn't paying you for it."

"Maybe you should try your luck with Stark Industries too?" Peter wondered, shouldering his back-pack with a rueful smile. "I mean, they could probably use someone like you and – and, I don't know, this place doesn't really suit you. You're too nice."

The scientist snorted. "Wow. So, I'm too soft now, huh?"

Peter argued instantly, both hands coming up. "No, no, you're not soft – you remind me a lot of my aunt, and I know how hard she can be – but you're too kind," he explained further, letting his own brow come down like it confused him as well. "I can't explain it. _But not soft."_

Quinn gave a gentle smile. "I know, Peter," she allowed. "Now, be careful out there would you? That aunt of yours would kill me if – "

" _Doctor Daniels, call for you on line 402. I repeat line 402 for Doctor Daniels."_

They both winced at the voice over the intercom, almost like they hated the reminder of _work_. "Well, that's me then," Quinn sighed, running a hand through her hair, mussing up the fuzzy bangs. "I'll see you next week then, hopefully? I don't remember when your apprenticeship here ends?"

Peter gave a crooked smile. "Last day today actually…"

Quinn groaned. "Damn. Now I'll have to teach my assistant the new system. You would've saved me the headache," she winked again, looking over her shoulder. The front desk wasn't too busy, so she'd use the phones there to answer the call – which hopefully wasn't going to be too long. "Anyway, I hope we meet again Mr. Parker. I expect to see you name on some magazine in a few years, you hear? Stark's little protégé."

Peter gave a shy smile now, cheeks blossoming red. "Oh well… I'm gonna… go…"

Quinn gently placed a hand on his shoulder before turning to leave, her maternal instincts almost mourning the loss of the childish boy. It was a shame his apprenticeship was already over – she'd miss his stupid shirts, and even stupider jokes when he was working on her level. He was a good kid.

The scientist approached the front desk, giving a wide grin when the woman looked back with a curious but bland look. "You wouldn't happen to have a spare phone, would you?" she questioned, plastering the charm on thick but also gesturing to her badge.

It worked well enough, the older woman beaming back and gesturing to the side of her desk where about five phones sat. "You can use one of those, dear," she promised, fixing the headset covering her ears. "Just remember to first dial the line you're attempting to reach. Zero, then the level number – so for example, zero-one-four for level fourteen or zero-zero-three for level three, will direct you to the main office but certain lines were take you to certain phones throughout the building or to certain hold lines. Are you trying to reach someone, or take a phone call?"

Quinn gave a tired smile, not quite sure why she was getting the phone tutorial. "I'm taking a phone call," she explained, not quite willing to ruin the woman's fun. "402, if you heard the loud speaker before. I'm Doctor Daniels."

The receptionist perked up. "Oh, then I'm sorry dear, no doubt boring yah with my chit-chat," she chuckled bashfully. "The phone's all yours."

"Thanks, you're a saint," Quinn breathed, both hands coming together in the universal gesture for prayer as she darted around the counter. It took a quick check to the connection, and then she was dialing the hold number, waiting until she heard both the sound of a click and the sound of life on the other end. Trying not to scare the other person, she cleared her throat before speaking up. "Hello? This is Doctor Quinn Daniels; how can I help?"

" _Oh, that was quick. I was expecting to be waiting a while?"_

The voice was smooth and feminine, cleverly charming to a point where it made the scientist both calmed and on alert. Quinn tried to put a smile in her voice as she replied, wanting the woman to hear only friendliness and not suspicion. "I apologize that you had to wait at all, ma'am. If you can tell me what you're after I'll get right on it for you," she promised absently, mentally somewhere else as she studied the people milling about the front lobby.

Okay, she didn't need to be nervous, nope. It wasn't like she was a secret agent, she was only a scientist – and she had nothing to hide.

The woman seemed to hear the smile, and injected warmth into her own voice in reply. _"I'm only after a few minutes of your time,"_ she announced smoothly, managing to sound both flattering and mocking all at the same time. It was quite the talent. _"I just finished reading your paper on mutating genes and how they can affect a bodies rate of healing, as you so aptly described it."_

Maybe she did a reason for suspicion? Quinn hummed, trying to ensure her voice sounded bland. "Ah, you did? What did you think then? I wrote that clean over three years ago, so I must admit I wasn't expecting new attention."

" _But you expected attention three years ago when you wrote it, yes? I mean, it landed you a job at…"_ There was the rustling of papers. _"AntiGen, is it?"_

Quinn narrowed her eyes at the wall, but otherwise didn't outwardly react. "That it did. The board are interested if there is any credibility in my claims," she lied easily, leaning against the desk. "I'd started working for the New York Laboratories early twenty twelve, a few months before the invasion. I must admit, as terrible as the disaster was, I'm glad I got a few weeks from work. The lab can become so confining."

On the other end of the line, the woman let out an amused chuckle. _"I can't say the same. I swear, those few weeks were hell for my branch,"_ she chuckled, shaking her head if the slightly sound of rustling – hair brushing against the phone – was any indicator.

Quinn lifted a brow. "Where do you work, miss…?"

" _Oh, I'm in security,"_ the woman excused quickly. _"And its Rushmore. Natalie Rushmore."_

* * *

Coulson didn't believe her excuse for more than a second, and she soon found piercing eyes watching her every move – behind her from the second they started going over the report and any questions concerning it, to the hour where she stopped by the mess hall to grab a quick bite. He trailed, he watched, he listened; all with a sharp eye like he expected a coded message to be hidden in her chicken salad.

It was almost annoying. After all, she _did_ want to pull up some files and investigate, and it didn't help that she was being watched so closely during said investigation – but at the same time, she was amused by his antics. Coulson must've known her well.

"If you tell me why you're really here, you know I'll leave you alone," Phil murmured after watching her take yet another bite.

Natasha lazily chewed the greens, enjoying the bitterly sharp taste as she mulled over her reply. "Hm, but you'll also tell Fury, won't you?" she questioned without question, knowing the answer already. "Maybe I don't want him knowing what I'm doing here? Maybe I'm only here because I needed a break from a _certain someone's_ limitless sarcasm and ability to turn idle conversation into sexual innuendoes." The sentence was finished with an almost pointed look, and the woman rolled out her shoulders, checking their surroundings.

Phil blinked. "I'll believe it," he allowed, pushing to his feet and moving away from the seating arrangements. He didn't so much as look over his shoulder, picking up the hint she'd left by mentioning her ironclad team mate.

Stark was a friend to them both – if looking the other way helped him, Coulson would do it.

Natasha waited until she'd finished her meal completely, not wanting any curious eyes to think her eager to run now that she'd lost her tail. It was easy enough to pace the steady pattern – fork up the food, bring it to her lips, chew, swallow, repeat – and she actually didn't mind wasting the extra twenty minutes it took. Back at the tower, the team loved their meals together, enjoying the odd hour of getting to spend time together without a threat looming too close, or work catching up to them. Just because she was on her own now didn't mean she couldn't breathe in the quiet.

Standing up with a languid roll, popping out each vertebra, the assassin dropped her tray at the front and wandered through the main door – pointedly keeping her shoulders loose and eyes ahead. _Shield_ were her employers, yes, but just because their intentions were good, didn't mean their agents were as well. _Shield_ was good. People weren't.

Natasha hummed a lullaby under her breath as she walked, taking the longest, most confusing route she knew towards the archives. It wouldn't take too long hopefully, to pull up the woman's file – unless she'd been clever and changed her name, then it would be more…

Interesting?

The guard at the entrance to the archives recognized her – most likely her figure and features rather than her status – and let her through without much of a fight, bowing his head once but never meeting her eyes. Getting in wasn't what worried her, but instead getting out without suspicion.

Natasha searched the rows, seeing only the odd few agents and technicians wandering about, before she settled at a far desk. The nearest camera was behind her, up above her left shoulder and stretching out her arms, she shifted the monitor – casually propping up her legs so it looked like an act of laziness rather than an act of secrecy. The new position would block the screen from the camera, and that was all she needed to start.

The assassin took in a deep breath before slowly typing; _Daniels._

It wouldn't be terribly logical to type in the woman's full name – not only to avoid wasting time if she had, indeed, changed her name, but also to avoid connections should someone still manage to track who she was trying to find. It was just another measure of protection her paranoid brain demanded.

Just another measure she regretted when over five hundred results popped up.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Screw subtly," she grumbled, adding in a few more words now. _"Daniels. Bombed town. 2008."_ That was more promising, and the results were less than thirty, a number she was willing to tackle. "Alright then, let's start at the beginning, a very good place to start…"

It didn't take more than twenty minutes – _thank god_ – to get a result that made her perk up, interest finally sparked. There had been an... accident, the news claimed, a bomb that must've veered from course during a training regiment. It was truly a disaster, and the military apologized, not quite admitting they hadn't released any missiles – no doubt because they couldn't admit to the failure.

The missile hit a small town, leaving nothing but burnt out shells of homes and bodies only recognizable through dental records.

Natasha skimmed down the list until she found _exactly_ what she had been searching for the entire time. "Joanna and Richard Daniels," she read out loud, eyeing up the list of causalities. "But no Quinn?"

Their names were a light blue, meaning they were a link to yet another article, and slowly… dreading what she'd see… she clicked on it. When another bland, boring article came up, she let out a relieved breath – almost happy to see the lack of photos or heartbreaking family pictures, when her heart stopped in her throat. There were no photos, but there was a video, a news report.

Biting her lip against the indecision, she clicked play.

* * *

 _The camera focused on middle aged features, the woman forcing a smile when she realized she was the center of attention. "Disaster struck a small town earlier this week, when a military grade missile veered from its training course. Tragically it collided with a population of three thousand people – none of who survived."_

 _There were teams of people behind the older woman, clad in blue or red – either fighting the fires that had survived, or searching and shifting through rubble to find bodies. It wasn't something they did through hope, that much was clear on their features, but instead something they did for the families of people who had been ruined by the tragedy. This wasn't to ease their consciences by finding at least one person who was still alive, but instead to ease their nightmares._

 _They were only reassuring themselves that no one was alive._

 _The camera came back to the reporter, who no longer bothered with forcing anything. "Only some bodies have been both found and identified, while others remain missing. The strict housing setup has proved invaluable however, and helped with the identification process. Tragically though, they do not help with labelling the visitors in the town."_

 _There was fire quickly growing through the building closest to the reporter, and it was almost as though she could sense the heat – her eyes narrowing slightly, and shoulders hunching up. It was licking maybe fifty feet behind her, yet nobody moved._

" _The local churches accounting however, has revealed the names of three guests not registered under the towns name who donated signed cheque's to support the older fashioned chapel. Police are searching for one – " she looked down to her clipboard, "Sara Davis, Travis Bailey, and Quinn Daniels – all who were supposedly visiting their family for unknown reasons. If anybody has seen a sign of these three people, or knows of anyone visiting the town as well, please contact the police department."_

 _The fire was too close now, and someone was urging her from off camera, shouting something incoherent._

" _Please help these people settle. After the tragedy that has claimed their lives, they deserve to rest."_

* * *

Natasha could feel the wetness rolling down her cheek before she even registered she was crying, throat clogged at the last desperate plea of the reporter. There was something tickling in the back of her mind, reminding her about hearing of the disaster at some point, but not caring beyond mild interest. It hadn't involved her or any loved ones, so she…

So she hadn't cared.

The red head wiped at her cheeks, checking over her shoulder for anyone snooping. "Quinn Daniels," she repeated quietly, trying to feel happy that she had discovered the woman was real, that she _had_ survived a nuclear blast like they thought.

Instead of happiness, she only felt something molten hot drip down her spine – determination thick in her blood.

Natasha straightened up, cracking her neck and staring ahead at the computer screen. Her fingers moved almost without her permission, typing in the woman's name – screw the consequences – and eagerly lapping up the results. There was dozens of people by that name apparently, and a couple of photos of them, some young and some old, some from different heritages and cultures, some from –

Pale eyes widened.

 _Bingo._

Natasha hurried to click on the link to the scientific journal that came up, recognizing the term _biologist_ even though she felt separate from her mind. Quinn had been a biologist, right? That's what Tony had said when he'd talked about her?

Reading over the stupid terms she didn't understand, she jumped right to the name at the bottom and the picture that sat beside it. It took her less than a second to recognize the brown hair and almost gem like green-blue eyes. The woman was smiling yes, but she still looked…

Sad?

Using the programme she'd never really appreciated until that moment, she brought up everything known about the woman on their files. Most of it seemed useless enough – where she grew up, graduation, _the obvious lack of any medical history_ , where she worked. Natasha latched onto that last part, skimming over everything they had in less than ten minutes.

Then she found herself in a secure room with a phone against her ear, and on-hold music mocking the silence.

The lady who had picked up had promised, she'd _promised_ that she'd get the scientist for her. All she had to do was wait. It hadn't been long, she knew, but already she was growing impatient. How long did it take for someone to answer a bloody phone? All they had to do was –

" _Hello? This is Doctor Quinn Daniels; how can I help?"_

Natasha sucked in a breath. That was a voice like honey, and suddenly the infatuation made just a little more sense. With a shake of her head, she composed herself and smiled. "Oh, that was quick. I was expecting to be waiting a while?" she teased, throwing on her _assassin_ voice as the billionaire had so aptly named it. It was her natural safe guard.

The voice that answered was both distracted and focused, somehow at the same time. _"I apologize that you had to wait at all, ma'am. If you can tell me what you're after I'll get right on it for you,"_

"I'm only after a few minutes of your time," Natasha admitted, honest before she could even think of a lie. Looking to the side, the assassin took a seat at the conference table, thumbing through the paper she'd printed. "I just finished reading your paper on mutating genes and how they can affect a bodies rate of healing, as you so aptly described it."

Okay, so _that_ was a lie. Natasha hadn't finished it.

Yet.

Quinn's reply was clearly carefully measured, every word pronounced with efficiency. " _Ah, you did?"_ she double checked, voice a note lower than the beginning of their conversation. It was a clear sign of distrust, if her red room training was too be believed. _"What did you think then? I wrote that clean over three years ago, so I must admit I wasn't expecting new attention."_

Why do you not trust a stranger on the phone?

Natasha canted her head to side, also carefully thinking through her next words. It was a matter of finesse. "But you expected attention three years ago when you wrote it, yes? I mean, it landed you a job at…" Giving a wince, she quickly cycled through her pages, too frazzled to remember the exact name of the woman's business. "AntiGen, is it?"

Instead of her words making the woman more on guard, it almost installed some humor into her voice. _"That it did. The board are interested if there is any credibility in my claims,"_ Quinn allowed, sounding almost bored, like she was sick of hearing it. _"I'd started working for the New York Laboratories early twenty twelve, a few months before the invasion. I must admit, as terrible as the disaster was, I'm glad I got a few weeks from work. The lab can become so confining,"_ she teased lightly, not mocking the incident but only trying to stop its association with disaster.

Natasha's smile was unbidden, as was the laugh that followed it. "I can't say the same. I swear, those few weeks were hell for my branch," she admitted, shaking her head at the thought of the first few weeks. Even though she'd demanded a holiday, she hadn't taken it.

" _Where do you work, miss…?"_

Natasha almost cursed the slip. "Oh, I'm in security," she muttered, the lie slipping out without effort. "And its Rushmore. Natalie Rushmore."

Quinn hummed on the other end. _"Pleasure to meet you then, Natalie,"_ she announced, sounding genuine enough. _"Anyway, did you have questions about my paper? If so, I'll have to ring you back. I'm using the front desk phone at the moment and really shouldn't be clogging up the lines."_

Natasha winced, but instantly understood – she wasn't being pushed aside, but instead being put after the consideration of others. "Actually…" she started, brain already slamming down the brakes. The mental voice she'd refused to give a name all these years demanded she didn't voice the next few words, that she instead bring this information to her team mate and let _him_ decide. The words came out nonetheless – "I'll be travelling to Washington this week, and I was hoping we could perhaps get lunch if you're free? If I'm going to question you, I should at least buy you lunch."

The scientist laughed, and the sound was gorgeous. The assassin approved.

" _You've peaked my interest, Miss Rushmore,"_ Quinn teased, already loosening up. _"Okay then, you've got a deal. Ask me whatever you want, as long as you pay for my food. I'm free Fridays, if that's okay with you?"_

Natasha almost fainted in sheer relief. "That is – that is perfect. How about we meet up outside AntiGen at one?"

" _I look forward to it. Have a good night, and a safe trip here, Miss Rushmore."_

After sharing similar polite words, Natasha dropped the phone, staring at the screen in shock before shooting through her contacts. It was real, she was alive and… and working right across the road from the man still mourning her loss, still bearing the guilt of her death on his shoulders. Grinning, the woman marched from the room, already sending a text to her partner in crime.

Coulson stopped her before she could leave the building. "Finish what you came for?"

Natasha gave him an honest to god smile back. "Best mission I've ever done," she admitted. "I deserve a goddamn medal."

* * *

 **Oh look, this chapter took decades to be released.**

 **Surprise?**

 **Taila xx**


	8. Lunch

Clint was a man of little faith.

"Just listen to me for a minute, your IQ is clean over a hundred and fourty, right? So why, with all that _genius_ up there, couldn't you conjure up anything more than this?" he drawled, somehow managing to juggle what looked like an entire packet of skittles between his hands. It was a wonder he didn't drop them, seeing as he was paying little attention to them as they schemed. "Honestly, Nat, I'm a little disappointed."

Fixing her skirt in the mirror – first impressions were important and all that, blah blah blah – the assassin only hummed in reply. "You're only disappointed about the complete lack of violence," she mumbled, twisting and turning before her reflection to ensure she looked good from all angles. It wasn't that she was a vain creature, but she'd seen the pictures of her competitions.

Tony had chosen a gorgeous creature to fall in love with…

"Oh, and the lack of explosions," Clint added helpfully, a single skittle leaving the herd and tumbling into his mouth.

Natasha felt both amused and a little concerned. "Explosions, how could I forget?" she questioned rhetorically, turning to judge the archer with twin raised brows. "You know, hobbies are meant to be a relaxing way to relieve stress. Yours are just frightening… and unhealthy."

Like the mature adult he was, Clint snorted. "Well _excuse you_ , bombs are perfectly healthy," he argued, almost instantly falling quiet after the words. In the silence, they shared an awkward look, the male clearing his throat and dropping a skittle - it hit the ground with a sound louder than gunshot. The archer gave a few owlish blinks, hesitating before – "Okay, _healthy-ish?"_

The assassin let her lips pop open, mouthing _oh_ before she turned back to the mirror.

"Hey no, you don't get to judge me. Your hobbies are worse, and include…" he started, abandoning the skittles as he began counting fingers. "Breaking into high security wards, _just to see if you can._ Going into random office buildings, and seeing how long it takes people to realise you don't _actually_ work there. Last but not least, and my personal favourite – wandering around public places to find the percentage of human beings not immune to your deathy death glare of death."

Natasha grinned, looking into the distance as she reminiscent. "We're at a solid 96% of people not immune," she announced proudly, checking her hair once before spinning to face him with a flourish. "How do I look?"

Clint studied her, still picking up skittles from the ground. "Dangerous."

"Just the look I was going for too," Natasha muttered, checking her phone with a measured breath. "I better go. Just remember what I told you; Tony is in the workshop – you need to make sure he emerges in time for our little _lunch date._ If he doesn't show up, I'm going to look like an idiot. Quinn thinks we're discussing her paper on blood lines and mutation, but genetics goes clean over my head," she admitted, hiking up a clean beige bag. It looked rather innocent, but inside were twin handguns and a high strength taser. "I read the damn thing, doesn't mean I understand it."

Giving up on his skittle recovery effort, the archer yawned and smacked his lips, apparently bored with the situation already. "I'm still amazed you managed that much. I got a headache when I tried to read it over your shoulder."

"That's what you get for snooping."

It was his turn to raise a curious eyebrow. "Ah, and using a government run facility and its information archives _isn't_ snooping?" he chimed, trying to be slick and push the forgotten candy under the bed with his feet. "That's taking it to a whole new level. That's… that's… probably illegal actually."

Natasha looked once to the floor, and her now dirtied bed, before she started shooing him away. It was best to kick him out before he opened the next packet and dropped _them_ as well. "How many laws have _you_ broken?" she demanded sarcastically, checking her watch before pushing him faster. In less than five minutes she was expected across the road, and in less than fifteen, expected in the café she'd given to the billionaire.

"That is not the topic of this conversation," Clint defended, not even struggling against her shoving. The little bastard looked almost relaxed, treating her pushing like a bloody taxi service and leaning heavily against her hands.

Pale eyes landed on the elevator, and those hands moved away, leaving the archer to hit the ground with a muffled grunt. "I'm gonna be late," Natasha grumbled, checking her purse and piling things above the weapons. It was no secret how much people liked to snoop, and just in case someone saw inside, she'd rather they _didn't_ see her advanced and highly designed hand pistol. "I'll say it again. You have to – "

Clint waved a hand from the floor, cutting the sentence short. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Smeagol must emerge from his cave, whatever."

Natasha levelled the man with a careful look, making sure he understood the severity of this all. If Tony didn't see the woman, he'd dwell on her death and his guilt for years, slowly digging his own grave. Then, if _Quinn_ didn't see him _,_ she'd probably continue with her pathetic existence – no close family, no close friends, back to back twelve hour shifts and no life beyond the walls of her laboratory.

This? This was the only way either of them would be happy and she was determined to bring them together.

It would… it would _hurt_ them both, she knew that much already. Quinn had her reasons, no doubt, for not coming out and telling him she was still alive – but if Tony found out she was alive and hadn't told him?...

Natasha had never seen the genius really _cry_ , but something told her the next hour was going to change that.

At some point during her thoughts, the elevator had travelled down the building, chiming now to indicate she was on the lowest level. It startled her more than she was willing to admit, heart leaping into her throat, and with a heavy sigh she strode into the lobby.

"Okay, I'm Natalie Rushmore," she murmured quietly, looking over the street for big teal eyes. "I'm interested in her thesis on mutations and their effects in bloodlines, including their evolutions through the past few decades. Also, her current experiments? What are they, and why does she need a tiny fortune to run the tests. Don't mention your knowledge of her finances…"

Now, where were the eyes the billionaire had practically written poems over?

Natasha let out another careful breath, calming the boost of adrenaline her body had decided to shoot out into her blood stream. Missions like this, big or small, always seemed to make her heart pound. It wasn't _noticeable_ – she had mastered how to hide what she was really feeling – but it made her feel excited, nervous, ready to both stay and fight but run and hide. It made her want to –

There.

Brown hair, some of the locks wavy and some straight – almost as wild as the sea, which managed to match the shade of stunning eyes – caught her attention, and with a subtle cant of her head, she started to study the woman in interest. Quinn looked like her photos, as much as everybody else did, and the billionaire had done her justice when he'd poetically recounted her features.

Still… it was a little strange seeing the woman in person because… because… Quinn Daniels looked like _everybody else?_

Embroided denim painted the long length of her legs, and a plum button up flowered over the curve of her shoulders and bust. _Typical._ Plain natural makeup covered her features, covering what must've been dark bruises under her eyes, and forcing life to her cheeks. _Typical_. Her hair was long since forgotten and abandoned to a simple shoulder length, flowing down to curve above her chest in natural twists and turns. _Typical._ The exact type of woman she would've passed on the street or in a store without so much as a second glance.

Natasha took her last calming breath, striding towards the scientist with her chin held high. "Ah, Doctor?"

Quinn – the woman who had disappeared, the woman who was _dead_ – turned to face her, wearing a stunning smile. "Ms. Rushmore, I assume? It's a pleasure to meet you," she chimed, holding out a hand politely. The handshake was both firm and weak, the woman squeezing for a split second before instantly trying to take back her hand. "I'm sorry if I'm a little late. Latest experiment was showing some promise, and I got a little caught up…"

Late? Natasha smiled back mildly, not noticing the time. "Not too worry, I really haven't been waiting long at all," she shrugged, trying not to look over her shoulders for warm brown eyes. The genius was never early, so she didn't need to panic that today he would be. "Shall we start walking?"

"Oh, oh right lunch," Quinn blushed, apparently caught up in her thoughts. "I… I might've forgot about eating."

Natasha couldn't help the laugh that escaped through her calm façade – the woman was basically the billionaire she knew and loved, all wrapped up in a petite package. It was more amusing than she thought, one loved robotics and engineering, while the other loved biology and science. The woman gave her a questioning look, and all the assassin could do was shrug. "You, uh, you remind me of someone I know."

Quinn gave a shy smile. "I do? Poor guy then," she muttered, managing to keep up with the red head's long strides easily enough. It didn't seem to matter that she was on the shorter side, her legs apparently miles long. "I'd hate being me."

"You are you," Natasha pointed out dryly, recognizing the sarcastic sense of her humour as well.

"Damn."

Natasha managed another smooth chuckle, shaking her head in slight exasperation as they wandered a little down the road. The café wasn't too far – if it had been, Tony never would've agreed to go, as lazy as he was – so they didn't have to walk long before they came to the warm little nook in-between skyscrapers. It was popular enough that it was never empty, but not so well known that too many people crowded the building.

The assassin held the door open with a bland smile, still trying to get a read on the woman. "Have you eaten here before? The pasta's here are fabulous," she hinted, happily trotting to the front of the store. "Good afternoon. I'll have the chicken pesto pasta, ah heated please, and a large wildberry tea, please."

The cashier, recognizing her with a flustered smile, nodded as he rang up the order. "That'll be seventeen thirty, thanks."

Natasha hurried to shake her head, smiling in apology when the younger boy looked almost panicked. "Oh, sorry, this lovely lady is also with me," she excused, gesturing to the scientist behind her, and bringing her forward with a hand on her elbow. "Don't even _think_ about arguing. I'm the one who dragged you away from your work. The very least I can do is pay for you lunch."

Quinn, hesitant but not rude enough to say no, nodded and looked up to the menu. "I'll have a large mochaccino thank you, double shot, please," she started slowly, biting her lower lip nervously. "Also, the… spinach and pine nut lasagne?"

"Oh, a double shot type of person, huh?" Natasha allowed sneakily, winking and lightly elbowing the scientists side. "I think I like you already."

Finally, _finally,_ the scientist sent her a genuine smile – her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners and dimples attacking her cheeks. "Ah, so a coffee person then, I see?" she teased back lightly, clearly trying to be friendly but still a little worrisome. "I've only been one for about five years? A uh, a friend use to recommend it constantly, would gush over the flavours and upsides to caffeine, and well, I promised I'd try it when we got back home. Addicted ever since."

 _Tony…_

Natasha feigned curious concern, canting her head to the side as she paid for their meal. "Oh? You and this… _friend_ still together?" she asked playfully, taking their table number and gesturing towards a small booth. The scientist gave her a confused look, either pained at the words or panicked at the question. "Oh, I ask only because you said; _when_ _we got back home,_ and you hesitated before saying friend. I figured… you know…"

Quinn blinked. "No, we're uh, we're not together anymore," she murmured gently, surprising the assassin by even answering the question in the first place. "It's a long story. We got stuck together for a few months – um, this hotel screwed up our rooms – and became close but then something came up and…" Teal eyes looked away, not misting over with tears but clouding in hurt. "Well, I haven't seen him since."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the assassin allowed, trying to purposefully change the subject. "So, your work…?"

Quinn perked up at the topic change, taking in a deep breath and folding her arms on the table. "That's an even longer story," she chuckled, already appearing a lot brighter and surer in the conversation. "I suppose you're wondering about the obsession with inhuman's and mutations?"

Natasha pursed her lips. "Hm, that doesn't surprise me actually, you're not the only person interested," she admitted, smiling when their drinks were dropped to the table by a smiling waitress. "I mean, mutations are fascinating. Inhuman's too. I've seen a few things in all honesty, it's what led me to you. I've seen muscle growth and strength, extremely elevated levels of hand eye coordination and wind speed measurements…"

It was then she knew she had the scientists hooked, the woman leaning closer and slowly stirring sugar through her coffee. "I'll admit I'm more interested in the muscle growth and strength," she pressed her lips together. "I try to focus on more physical aspects of mutations."

Taking a sip – _oh thank god, she had tea to calm her nerves_ – Natasha hummed, eyes glued to her company. Interesting. The woman was only interested in the physical manifestations of mutations, like for example, the manifestations of her own. "So, like…" she shrugged uselessly, feigning disinterest. "I don't know, like night vision, or hardened skin, the ability to heal wounds?"

Quinn didn't outwardly react to the comment, her expression still polite and warm, but her fingers nervously circled the rim of her cup. "Exactly. I'm not saying mental ones aren't interesting – I would love to meet the person you said with elevated levels of hand eye coordination – but I've spent all my years of study on the physical instead. I could've studied both aspects, but in choosing one I have a better understanding at a younger age."

"I was just about to say, you don't look like someone I'd expect to own the number of degrees that you have!" Natasha gushed, now giving the wide eyed look she knew would loosen up the woman's shoulders. "Did you start university at a young age?"

The scientist laughed openly. "Oh no, no, I spent several years studying. I noticed however, that it wasn't until I hit thirty that people started taking me seriously," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Top five percent of my class, I've written papers, done studies – but I still get looked down on. It's exhausting, being a young female in a world full of older males. I'm not saying it's a sexism thing but…"

Natasha waved a hand in understanding. "Oh no, trust me, I know what you're talking about. You're still technically an expert on the matter though?"

Quinn bowed her head. "Yes, I am considered one of the top experts in the area," she admitted, cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the same time her chin lifted proudly. "It's not something I take lightly. It was a lot of demanding work and hours, blood sweat and tears. Hell, my first year at – "

The assassin saw him coming before he spoke up, saw the movement from the corner of her eye and recognized the familiar stride. It took all she had not to panic or look his way, not to tense up and start going through a list of things that could go wrong. It took all she had to remind the voice screaming in her head that this was for the best, that the pain she was about to see was what she _had_ to do.

"Okay gingersnaps, what's with the lunch invite and why did you sic your sidekick on me? I don't appreciate it when people shoot arrows at me."

In the second it took the genius to glare her way, she watched the other woman as closely as she could. Quinn didn't… she didn't even react? There was the same pleasant look on her face, the same calm manner that had been choosing her actions still present. The only thing she did was blink back, confused about the interruption before she peered up into what should've been familiar features.

Tony though… "Quinn?" he whispered brokenly, mouth opening and closing without sound, eyes filling with both tears and hurt. _"Quinn?"_

If she wanted to say there was a singular moment that sent her plan to shit, she'd say it was then – when all the female did was give a careful smile, brow down in concern, and said what was possibly the worst thing imaginable.

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

When the words hit the air, Natasha was lucky enough to get to watch one of her closest friends _break,_ up close with the blame squarely on her shoulders. Front row seats to the exact second the genius's heart broke, his face crumpling, and shoulders shaking in silent sobs. For a split second, it almost looked like the arc reactor, hidden enough to unknowing eyes but visible to hers, flickered out.

The weakness didn't last long, the man suddenly squaring up and staring dead straight ahead. There was nothing on his face. No emotion, no feeling, _nothing._

Tony glared at her again, this time with a venom that almost made her wince. "Thank you for inviting me to lunch, Natasha," he hissed, and she could almost _see_ their friendship dying in front of her eyes. "Next time, keep your fucking nose out of my business."

Then he left.

Natasha almost wanted to cry, watching his shoulders stay strong until he let the building and collapsed again, his head hidden by shadow. That was her fault. The pain, the hurt, the agony, it was all on her. Bruce had warned her against this too, with that practised parental look, warned her to be careful when she started digging into the suspicious death and sudden reappearance.

" _Tony is more fragile than he appears, Natty, that's all I'm going to say."_

And now? Now she'd broken him. Held the fragile heart, and then dropped it in her own stupidity. Natasha shook her head, not quite believing that she was wrong, that all the study she'd done had led to this moment. Pale eyes glanced up – because, _because damn it, she knew this was too much._ The coincidence, the meeting in the market. _Everything._ There was no way she was fucking wrong.

Natasha looked up, mouth open to speak before she paused.

Quinn was levelling her with a hard look, both hands holding her coffee cup up by her chin. "He has a point you know," she announced mildly, voice carefully measured as she downed the rest of her drink. "You shouldn't mess with things you don't understand, _Natasha."_

The assassin stopped, wondering what the hell she meant before she finally saw it – panic, fright, pain. It had been hidden well, oh so well, but now she could see it, floating behind teal eyes and pressing lines into the space around her lips. "You're a lot smarter than you look," Natasha realised, looking towards the door hopefully. If she hurried, she could stop the genius and tell him it wasn't a mistake, that she _was_ his little scientist.

Quinn followed her eyes, and shook her head. "And you're a lot dumber than you look," she countered flatly. "I know you. I've _seen_ you – plastered on the television screen, kicking ass and taking names. The black widow. I'm a little disappointed."

Ah, classic bravado…

Natasha smiled, canting her head to the side. "I'm the dumb one?" she questioned. "I'm not the one who voluntarily broke his heart."

Looking at the woman, she'd expected a break down when they met – not this fire, this heated passion. Quinn was stronger than she looked, not as weak as the slight frame said, not as hopeful and innocent as her wide eyes claimed. It would've been the real reason she'd gained the billionaire's awe. As stunning as she was, that wasn't always enough with Tony, but now she could see why the woman had drawn him in.

Quinn chuckled as their food arrived. "What were you hoping to achieve?" she asked lightly, continuing to surprise the assassin by happily digging into her food. "By forcing us to meet again. What did you think would happen?"

"I thought he'd stop having nightmares, and start sleeping. I thought he'd remember to eat, and not go days with only caffeine in his system. I thought that by having you in his life again, he'd remember why he fought for the world, rather than try to lose," Natasha listed, slowly picking away at her own meal. If the scientist wasn't willing to leave, then neither was she. "I thought maybe you'd remind him to live."

Quinn's jaw ticked. "Trying to guilt me now?"

"Trying to make you _understand_."

The scientist nodded at that, a sharp movement, nothing more. After that, they fell into… an almost companionable silence, both making their way through their meals. There was thought behind her eyes, clouding up the bright colour and draining the pink from her cheeks. It was best to leave her to think.

Quinn pushed her plate away. "I need to get back to work," she stated quietly, hands starting to tangle together. "He'll be mad at you."

Natasha nodded. "Yeah, I know he will be," she sighed, wiping a hand down her features. "You'd win me some brownie points if you told him the truth. I'm not asking you to come back into his life, but could you at least let him know you're alive? He thinks he killed you."

The scientist swallowed hard, looking across the café in thought. "It's not that easy."

It was a mood change – watching the woman go from practically dripping with fury to cowering in her own pain. It was as hard to watch as seeing the genius break down, both of them seeming unable to help themselves and each other. Natasha took in a breath, tapping her nails on the table top as she thought it over. "You don't have to be there…" she offered slowly, wondering if that was easier on the scientist. "I can give you his number? You could write a note…"

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut. "He'd never answer me. I lied to him about my abilities, and now I lied to him again," she wailed quietly, hands hiding her features. It was a torn sound, her voice seeming to crack on every word. "God, what have I done?"

There it was. There was the break down…

Natasha reached out, gripping her hand. "He's gonna go into hiding like he always does, okay? I won't see him for a couple days, no one will. Ring him, Quinn," she instructed, free hand already hurrying to find a card in her bag. It had her number on it, which she left untouched, but she hurried to scribble on a familiar one. "He won't get it for a few days. It'll give you whatever time you need. Here's both our numbers. Just…"

Quinn reached out to take it slowly, and it was interesting to see how usually perfectly stable fingers shook. "Ring him?" she whispered, looking up and biting her lips. Teal eyes were weeping, a single tear leaving a trail on her cheek. "I… I'd rather he miss me as a dead person than hate me as someone alive."

Oh.

Natasha suddenly understood – she understood why the woman had never come forward, understood why she'd desperately missed the genius but done nothing about it. "He'd never hate you. I don't think he's capable of it."

Quinn slipped the card into her pocket. "I'll try," she promised weakly, pushing to her feet. "Thank you for the lunch, Miss Rushmore."

Natasha only bowed her head. "You're welcome."

Her lips wearing a watery smile, the woman shouldered her bag and strode out the front door. Yet again, the assassin got to watch strong shoulders melt with pain once they thought they were out of sight. Yet again, she watched a hand come up to wipe the tears staining shadow hidden features.

Yet again, she wondered if she'd done the right thing.

* * *

 **This is such a difference to the meeting in the original works, but I like it a lot better. I don't want to beat about the bush as much as I did last time, and this is how I picture it happened. Quinn trying to stay strong, preparing for this only to break down anyway. I hope you like it.**

 **Also, I started an Instagram for my writing –** _ **tailataiff –**_ **figured it might help me both stay inspired, but also keep in touch with you guys easier. Follow me for sneak peeks at future work and the chapters I'm working on! Also, never hesitate to message me, even for the smallest things. I love you guys, and have made long term friends with some of you. Don't worry, I'm not a biter…**

 **Taila xx**


	9. Reunited

Three days

It had been _three days_ since the failure and there had been no phone calls, no voicemails, no random visitors or letters. Tony had vanished into the depths of his workshop never to be seen again – the doors on lock down and his artificial butler commanded to answer to no one – and the team was losing hope.

They had been so _sure_ about this – well the secret agents had at least – so sure that with the scientist back in the picture, those little mistakes would stop happening. The little mistakes like missed meals or sleep, like the times a bullet would clip the suit because he wasn't paying enough attention to dodge it. Maybe even the times where supervillains would learn how to shut said suit down, all because he wasn't keeping up with its firewalls and improvements.

Three days and all the hope had turned into ignored messages and locked doors.

But Clint? The very same man who'd been smug when proven right – his words, not hers – about the plan falling to shit, was now almost _infuriated_ by it all. Hawk like eyes were scouring the planet to find someone to blame for his teammates heartache, to find someone who could shoulder his ire – and right now? Right now, those eyes were settled on a certain redhead

"You know he built a coffee machine down there yesterday, right?" Clint announced blandly, staring relentlessly her way as his hands toyed with a knife. It flipped and swung in his hands, darting between fingers and over his palm; a physical representation of the anger he felt. "Now he never needs to leave."

The redhead kept an eye on both the archer's temperament and the knife – a sharpened blade that seemed to move with more volatility the longer she took to acknowledge his words. Natasha canted her head to the side. "I am aware, yes…"

There was a muscle in his cheek that twitched with the words. "And?"

Natasha let out a sigh, calmly flicking the page of the novel she was _trying_ to find the willpower to read. "And what, Clint? I can't go down there, you know I can't break the workshop's lockdown. _You_ can't go down there, there's no vents wide enough. Jarvis can't help, no matter how much he wants too, because the new protocol installed refuses his usual free will. Tony isn't interested in us, or in our excuses," she clicked her tongue, pushing the book to the side and meeting an annoyed glare. "So, pray tell, what do you expect me to do about it?"

Clint took in a measured breath. "Something? Fucking _anything?_ I mean, come on, Natasha, you _always_ have something up your sleeve," he begged her now, moving from his seat and pacing the length of the kitchen. "Fix him."

Fix him? Tony Stark?

Unlikely.

Drumming her fingers against the marble, she tried to think through her next words. "I hate to say this, but the only person who can help him is _her,"_ she pointed out quietly, eyes narrowing at nothing in particular. "I know it makes this all sound like some stupid romantic comedy, but we need to let this sort out on its own. If we meddle, you know we'll only make it worse."

"We already have." Clint grumbled, rubbing both hands down his face. "Look, it's been _three days_ and she hasn't made a move – what makes you so sure this is a waiting game? I caught a glimpse of his face before he hid away in the workshop, and for him, this is a homicidal game. The only thing he's waiting for, is a chance to release a repulsor ray between her eyes."

Natasha smiled almost serenely. "Okay, _one_ – she'd survive it. Two, unlike you, I saw her face when he stormed from that café. I heard how she spoke about him," she grinned, watching the man slowly give her his interest again. "It's a waiting game. As for our genius? I guarantee if he sees her eyes, he'll be weak."

The archer licked his teeth, chin lifted and eyes studiously tearing her words apart. "Are you seriously trying to tell me she's in love with him?" Clint groaned and turned away from her, uninterested now in the conversation. "In case you don't remember, _she_ left and didn't come back, _she_ faked her death and didn't tell him. Tony's the one in love with her and it's unrequited."

The assassin let out a tremendous sigh. "You're not looking deep enough into this," she grumbled teasingly. "Men."

"No, you're looking _too_ deep into this," Clint corrected, and there was anger, not warmth in his words like there had been in hers. "You're the one pretending this is some big deal when she couldn't care less about him. If you keep bringing his hopes up, it'll hurt more when she – "

Both assassins froze when a phone started ringing, the latest in communication technology _innocently_ vibrating across the counter. Natasha stared at it for a few beats too long, realizing it was her phone and an unknown number was flashing on the screen. "You don't think it's…" she wondered quietly, looking up at her partner with widening eyes. "I mean, it _couldn't_ be…"

Clint was awkwardly shifting on his feet, both uncertain and excited. "It would be too much of a coincidence," he brushed aside, looking every bit like he didn't even believe his own words. "I mean, it would fit the plot of some stupid romantic comedy, but this is real life."

Natasha scooped up the phone. "Nobody has my number," she reminded the man, steeling both her nerves and her voice. "It's her, I know it's her." The archer only shook his head as she went to answer, hair flicked over a shoulder and voice steely. "Natasha Romanova."

Clint mocked her from across the counter, mouthing the words she'd spoken with a stupid expression.

There was the lightly brushing of a sigh against the phone, someone breathing out before; _"Yeah, Natalie, it's uh, it's me,"_ she allowed shakily, a throat clear and second sigh sounding next. _"I'm ringing. Like you told me too."_

Poking out her tongue in a childish display – _shame you bastard, I win this round –_ the red head let her voice betray nothing. "Ah, Doctor Daniels? It's nice to hear from you. I was losing hope," she teased dully, trying to hide a smile when the man across from her choked on a corn chip. It was rather satisfying when she was right, and he wasn't. "How have you been?"

Quinn only hummed back. _"How has he been?"_ she countered, clearly having no interest in answering her question.

Natasha cleared her throat. "He's not… he's not in the best shape, I'll be honest with you," she admitted quietly, sharing a look with keen eyes. "We haven't seen him since he left to meet us at the café, and the entire workshop is on lockdown. It's a procedure to protect our files and technology should anyone over the tower or break in – but he's activated it now and changed the protocols. It can't be deactivated."

The doctor seemed to chew over the words for a few minutes, only sighs heard down the line. _"He hasn't even left for a coffee yet?"_ she chuckled faintly, swallowing hard when the red head muttered something – something about how'd managed to make one from an old toaster oven. _"Really? I guess I'm glad to see he hasn't changed. I'll admit a toaster oven wouldn't have been my first choice."_

"Nope, he hasn't changed," Natasha agreed. "Still drinks too much caffeine and cares too much about people who don't seem to care about him,"

Quinn completely ignored the words, now murmuring random memories from the time she must've spent with the billionaire. _"Did he ever tell you how he made me a comb from the metal casing of a missile? I had a nuclear comb. It was rather awesome. He also made me stripper heels as a joke,"_ she snorted, and humor made her voice warmer, an echo of what it must've once been. _"He told me I looked bomb in them and then sniggered for three hours."_

Even the redhead had to crack a smile at that, hearing the man she knew ring true in the words. "Oh yeah, hasn't changed," she promised, waving a hand when the archer gestured for her to hurry up. "It's nice to see you finally rang me."

The doctor made an aborted sound. _"I promise you it wasn't my first choice. It was my boss's though. I'm running solely on energy drinks and caffeine right now, and he was worried I might screw up in the laboratory,"_ she admitted quietly, a rustle of clothing making it sound like she'd shrugged rather hopelessly. _"I haven't slept more than four hours since I saw you last. It's been great. Really helping my work ethic"_

"Sarcasm?" Natasha wondered.

Quinn growled lightly, sounding suspiciously like an angered kitten. _"What the hell do you think?"_ she snapped harshly, taking less than a minute to mutter out an apology. _"I'm sorry, I haven't… yeah, I haven't slept…"_

Natasha pursed her lips, not so much offended as she was concerned. "It's perfectly okay. Tony does the same thing," she excused lightly, trying for a shrug of her own before she sighed. "I think most people do – anger is easier than facing whatever's upset you, don't you think?"

The doctor only let out a snort, the phone screaming out some interference, before the softer voice was back. _"This call was such a stupid idea,"_ she whispered, broken chuckle sounding not far afterwards. _"I don't even know why I bothered. I'm sorry if I disturbed you…"_

"Quinn, you bothered because you – "

The dial tone screamed out.

Natasha took the phone away from her ear, quickly placing it back and calling out again. "Quinn? Hello?" she called, brow coming down before, once again, she pulled it away from her head. The phone only told her the call was gone, before going back to its usual lock screen, _"Fuck!"_

* * *

In the beginning he hadn't bothered listening to the artificial intelligence when it spoke to him, tuning out the concerned words and heavy suggestions to deactivate the lockdown. Tony knew what he'd say – _have you eaten, are you going to sleep tonight? –_ so it wasn't like he was missing much.

Then he'd heard _her_ name, and the wrench he'd been holding clattered to the ground.

Jarvis knew better than to bring her up, even before the whole fucking mess a few days ago. He might have danced around the issue a little at first, maybe saying her name when the genius hadn't eaten or slept those first few months after the cave, but only in the beginning. After six months, the billionaire would snap if her name was mentioned, and after eight, the artificial man had learnt to shut up.

Then, after twelve, he'd found the metal comb he'd stolen from that cave engraved with her name – and after fifteen he'd stopped crying whenever he saw it.

 _Time will heal all wounds, my little one,_ his mother would preach, still calling him that stupid pet name even when he grew taller than she stood. _Time will heal all wounds, my little one, as long as you let it._

He was letting it, but no one else was?

Tony swallowed, watching the soldering iron he'd been fixing go dark. "Jay," he called out carefully, cracking his neck. It must've been a mistake, maybe the artificial man had said something wrong, or maybe he hadn't heard it right. "What the hell did you say?"

The intelligence seemed almost nervous to repeat it, taking a few seconds to speak again. _"Agent Romanova received a phone call from an unverified number – and as per your safety requirements, I recorded the conversation for potential future reference. Quinn Daniels was the caller,"_ he announced, sounding empathic when the genius choked at the sound of her name. _"Sir, I think it might be – "_

"Don't," Tony snapped, throwing the iron to the side and hearing it crash through other inventions. "Whatever you think you wanna say, _don't."_

Jarvis let out his version of a sigh, mechanical bubbles floating throughout the wide room. _"It's not what I think I want to say, but rather what I think you need to hear, sir,"_ he decided, and then a painfully familiar voice was playing through the room.

" **Did he ever tell you how he made me a comb from the metal casing of a missile? I had a nuclear comb. It was rather awesome. "**

Tony let out a slight moan, looking towards the far side of the room, towards the comb he knew was strategically hidden underneath rubbish on his favorite desk. It was her voice – not whatever gross lie that voice in the café had been – and it was their memories, their time together. "Is this from the phone call?" he whispered, dropping his head and watching the sweat drip to the tabletop.

There was a small second of silence and then; _"Yes, sir, this is from the call,"_ the intelligence allowed, seeming to pause yet again before speaking up. _"There is more. Daniels asks about you, and also mentions more time from the cave."_

Tony knew he was about to play the recording, he knew it, but he couldn't quite find the strength to stop it. **"He also made me stripper heels as a joke."** The words made him laugh, shaking his head and watching his sweat pool almost artistically below him. God, he remembered that. It had taken him all night, secretly soldering metal together, but it had been worth it **"He told me I looked bomb in them and then sniggered for three hours** _._ **"**

It was her…

 _Quinn._

The laughter dissipated frighteningly quick after that, like the quick slice of a blade against skin, or the rapid fire of a gun. "Quinn is alive," he realized, swallowing when something caught in his throat. "Quinn… is alive… and she left me?"

That was something his faithful butler didn't have an answer too.

Tony took in a shuddering breath, pushing away from the desk. "Let me get this straight…" he started slowly, storming towards the other side of the room. His hands started tearing through that desk, knowing exactly what things he needed to move. "I searched for her, day and night… I looked everywhere in that damn cave and in every _fucking_ cave those assholes hid in after that – but she was alive? Happily alive without me?"

" _I wouldn't say happy, sir,"_ Jarvis dared to reply, his voice as hesitant as a hand on his shoulder, as hesitant as a peace offering. _"I would say she was surviving rather than living. I would say that – going by the knowledge of human behavioral patterns you've installed on my drive – her lack of care about her own wellbeing paired with her forward way of caring for you… suggests she cares as strongly about you as you do for her. It suggests she was only as happy as you were, when you both lived apart."_

Tony laughed, finally emerging with that stupid fucking comb. The dull metal didn't shine in the light, but he was still entranced by it, twisting and turning it and feeling its weight in his hands. "It suggests she feels guilty, nothing else," he corrected quietly, trying to find that anger again, the one he'd been feeling seconds ago – but it ran from him, hiding under blue eyes and a warm smile. "You traced the call too then, didn't you? As per my safety requirements."

Jarvis sighed again. _"That I did, sir…"_

The billionaire felt his teeth clench and muscles tense, body readying for a fight he _knew_ he wasn't ready to face. "I knew I created you for a reason," he murmured with empty humor, running his fingertips over the comb before shoving it into his pocket. His legs carried him over to the clean part of the room then, centering him inside a familiar circle of arms almost without his permission. "Jay, get the suit ready."

* * *

What the hell had she'd been thinking? Why the hell was she _still_ thinking it?

Quinn let out a soundless scream, glaring back at her cellphone and the innocent sheet of cardboard beside it. The number was still sitting on the screen, waiting for her to once again press talk and start a new conversation – the sheet of cardboard was waiting too, but as insurance, making sure she couldn't use the excuse of forgetting the number as her reason to never call.

It was both tempting and painful. Tony was so close now, almost within her reach, and all she had to do was ring a number and swallow her pride. All she had to do was admit she'd been too scared to go back to him when she'd crawled out of that cave alive.

He'd… he'd forgive her, wouldn't he?

 _Wouldn't he?_

The doctor let out a careful breath, fingers tangled in her hair and nails digging into her scalp. It had been three months locked in a cave together, with only each other for company and affection – no shit he'd grown attached then, but outside that cage? Tony didn't need her in the real world. Yes, she'd been the only reason he'd stayed sane those few weeks, but he could do it on his own now.

Quinn bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling salted water drip down to hit her blouse. It left a single stain, and absently she wondered how many times such a mark had peppered her clothing, all because of; "Tony…"

Restlessly, she started to wander to one end of her apartment, and then to the other. – pacing a sharp line into her carpet.

He'd needed her then, but he didn't need her now. If she showed up on his doorstep, he wouldn't turn her away, no, that wasn't what she was saying. Quinn wasn't saying he was heartless. He'd feel companionship at first, she knew that, but it would all fade and she'd be put back on his doorstep with her heart in her hand – a heart that had been used and discarded.

It seemed selfish, but she had to protect herself somehow.

That somehow meant never seeing him again.

It was funny almost, wasn't it? That the only thing she wanted was to see him again, but she couldn't, not with the rules she'd set out. It was her own words, her own decision to save her heart the pain, that was causing all the agony she felt now.

But what pain was worse? It had been a few years since the… incident, yes, but that hadn't done much to heal the wound. Her choices were to either suffer through the dulled ache for the rest of her life, or storm into that workshop and watch him slip away despite her struggles to keep him. It was either decide to lose him, or chose to keep him and then lose him anyway.

"There's no winning," she realized almost mournfully, dropping in the middle of her lounge. Her skin was burning, hot with something like a fever, and the breeze from her open balcony door only helped so much. "I can only lose him."

The door to her apartment shuddered under the weight of someone's pounding, and she hurried to wipe her eyes, straightening out the crooked line to her shirt. In the time it took her to do that, they'd pounded again, clearly impatient and she shot the door a confused look. Who the hell was banging down her door? Her rent was up to date, wasn't it?

Quinn brushed the tears from her cheeks. "I'm coming, sorry," she called out, fixing her hair before she pulled the door open.

Her neighbor stared back, ears almost steaming. "What's with the yelling?" she screeched, immediately gesturing to the walls around them. "These walls are paper thin, you know? I'm sick of hearing every damn thing you do. Either shut up or I'm calling the landlord."

"I'm sorry, I was a little frustrated about – "

The woman was already storming towards the elevator, tutting and swearing under her breath. Quinn watched her move before stepping back, happily letting the door slam and hopefully annoying everyone on the other side of the _paper-thin walls._ "Stupid bitch," she grumbled, shaking her head. "The rent here is over half my damn paycheck. The walls are probably made of reinforced steel."

The doctor turned around then, letting out a scream when something red and gold was glaring back from the balcony.

It took her less than a second to realize what – or rather _who_ it was – and her heart kept pounding, still terrified but for different reasons. "Tony," she whispered, shaking her head and backing away until she hit wood. "Tony, you…"

The faceplate didn't lift like she thought it would, but rather stayed down and emitted a mechanical voice. _"Look who it is,"_ he chimed, suit whirling as it strutted forward, arms open in a mocking show of invitation. _"That neighbor of yours seems pissed. Be careful with her, she might attack you one day, but no need to panic, right? You'll easily survive a gunshot wound or three…"_

Quinn swallowed, looking around the apartment like something would save her from the situation. Her eyes landed on the phone, and it all kinda clicked in her head. "You traced my number, didn't you? Is that why she told me to call?"

The suit was rather intimidating she realized, watching it stalk even closer to where she cowered. _"Natasha? Wow, you guys are closer friends than I thought then. Lunch dates, swapping numbers, phone calls. You gonna fake your death and abandon her too?"_

"Tony, that wasn't – "

The man in the suit didn't listen, cornering her and looming, forcing her to hunch up her shoulders and hide behind her bangs. _"If you do, tell me, maybe good ol' Natasha and I can start a club,"_ he continued, mechanical voice practically a growl. _"Get matching jackets. Quinn Abandonment Inc."_

There was no stopping him, was there? Quinn stayed hidden, lowering her eyes to stare at the glowing arc reactor, watching it hum with life.

" _You know, I wasn't angry before. I tried to be, but I couldn't find it, I was just… I was just so happy you were alive, but then you know what I remembered?"_ Tony was practically snarling now, watching her to make sure she didn't escape. _"I remembered how much I cried thinking I lost you. I remembered that while I was crying, you were probably happily living your life. I remembered how much it hurt me to lose you, but you didn't even blink when you left me to that pain."_

Quinn was openly crying now, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and adding to the collection of water marks on her plain shirt – but she didn't do anything to stop him. It was anger, and it was what she deserved for years of lying to him. He had every right to let it all out, and she had no right to hide. "I wasn't fine," she argued weakly, voice shaking and barely heard over his suit whining.

Tony stopped then, stopped advancing and straightened up. _"Oh, look she's even crying…"_ he noticed mockingly.

The doctor glared up now, looking where she knew his eyes were, and glaring with all she had. "How dare you," she murmured darkly, both hands whacking the center of his chest. It did nothing but shoot pain up her arms – pain that lasted less than a second as the muscle and nerve damage was repaired. "God, why does _everything_ have to be about you? Do you honestly think you're the only person in the world who feels pain?"

" _I think I'm the only one in this room who feels anything,"_ he corrected quietly, and the mask finally came up, revealing big brown eyes and the wet mess they'd become. It hurt to see him cry, but she bit her lip against the emotion. "Why'd you leave? Why didn't you come back?"

Quinn looked away, wrapping her arms around her middle as she danced away from the suited man. "I'm not the one who left, remember? You flew away in that metal abomination and left me bleeding to death in the sand," she announced dryly, somehow managing to say it with little feeling.

The suit was shifting oddly, moving away, and the man gracefully stepped out. "Yet, here you are," he muttered. "I asked _two_ questions."

"I answered one."

Tony seemed to move with her, matching her step for step, tilting his head down _just enough_ to watch her through his lashes. It would've made her heart beat double time back then, made her palms sweat and cheeks heat, but it only made her nervous now. It felt dangerously similar to being stalked by a wild animal, and everything inside her head was telling her to run and hide – to get away.

Quinn swallowed hard. "What do you want?" she managed through her teeth, glaring up at him without heat. "What could you _possibly_ want now?"

The man was watching her, head canted to the side and something running behind his eyes. "I want to take you out," he decided abruptly, holding out a hand. It was both a peace treaty and a threat, hanging between them silently. "I want to take you to dinner, will you come?"

"Tony, I really don't think that's a – "

It was a sigh that broke her words, the billionaire dropping the offered limb and shaking his head. "You used to tell me everything," he smiled weakly, and she realized with a start that he'd lost his anger once more. "In that cave. You told me every secret you'd ever been told or kept from someone. You told me every stupid thing you'd ever done. You told me everything you felt as soon as you felt it."

Quinn licked her lips, opening and closing her mouth. It was hard to find the right words, to find how she was meant to reply to something like that. it was hard to believe the reprieve from his anger would last long enough for her to speak.

"I know you probably think I never listened to you," Tony smiled again, blinking owlishly her way. "But I did. I listened, and I learned."

If she didn't say something soon, he'd keep talking.

Tony slowly started wandering her apartment. "So, can I ask what's making you hide? Will you answer that for me?" he wondered, picking up a photo frame. It was a simple photo of her with her parents, and he gripped it with both hands, a smile on his face. "You never used to hide from me."

It was strange, but she wanted him to start yelling again, she wanted him to kick and scream again. The calm look he had wasn't right, didn't sit with the situation they were in. "Why aren't you mad?" she whispered, brow down and eyes confused. "After everything I did, why aren't you mad? Why… why do you want to take me to _dinner_? Why are you even here at all? Things – things can't go back to the way they were, you know that, don't you?"

Tony looked pained for a second. "I hope they don't go back to the way they were," he chuckled. "I mean, we _were_ trapped in a cave…"

" _We_ can't go back to the way we were."

The corrected words made him openly wince, and he took in a shuddering breath, suddenly finding the strength to look up. It was in his eyes, all her answers, all the broken anger and pain. "Why not?" he wondered, laughing again but not quite managing to complete the sound. "You called Natasha back, you must've hoped for… for something, right? Come on, Queen, help me out here. I'm trying."

Quinn could only shake her head again.

"Okay, okay, I see how it is," Tony licked his teeth, and like a spark coming into being, his anger was back. It was bright in his eyes, like fire, but he pulled away, hiding his face _and_ his anger. "For three months, you trained me? Trained me to need you. Trained me to be unable to live without you."

 _Don't do it. Don't set up your own heartbreak._ Quinn bit her tongue, trembling with the willpower it took to refrain from touching, from talking, from reaching out for the man she'd missed for over three years. _He won't need you for long, he won't want you for long. Let him get mad. Let him walk away._

Only he wasn't walking…

Tony finally turned to face her again, and the anger was muted, was crushed beneath the weight of his mind. "You succeeded, if you're wondering," he grinned weakly, standing tall and holding out both his arms. It looked like a victory pose, looked like he was accepting an award in front of millions. He looked like the millionaire he was, only his eyes were pained. "Consider me well trained. I can't live without you. Congratulations."

It wasn't possible to cry so much in one day. Quinn bit her lip, feeling it tremble even when it was caught between her teeth. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, feeling her heart _break_ in her chest. It hurt, it hurt _so damn much_. "I'm so sorry…"

When her legs gave out, taking her down, he went with her – arms around her shoulders and lips shushing the violent tears. "It's okay, Queen, hey, it's okay..."

After everything she'd done to him, he still held her as she cried – like he used to back in the cave. He held her and stayed strong despite the slightest shake to his muscles, despite how obviously he was breaking down as well. He was fighting to be the comfort she needed, and her heart shattered further.

He'd never cried in that cave. He'd always been this solid rock, holding her up and keeping strength in her veins, even when he'd had none in his own. If she cried, he'd wiped her tears. If her stomach rumbled, he gave her his rations. If her mouth was dry, she'd find water in her canteen. Tony had been her hero even back then, and she'd repaid him by leaving him when he'd needed her most.

What kind of person did that make her?

Quinn felt almost ugly, vulnerable as she sobbed. "I'm so sorry," she managed again, clinging to his shirt like a child. "I left you… I left you because I was scared. I was scared that when you had everything again – the media, the money, the women – you wouldn't need me anymore. I didn't wanna be hurt. I'm so sorry…"

"I'll always need you, okay?" Tony whispered, petting her hair, crushing the ends between his fingers. "Money can't replace you," he continued, voice thick with his own emotion, but sweeter than honey. It was exactly what she wanted to hear, and she chuckled through the tears, the sobs lessening enough that she finally felt she could breath. They were okay. They were reunited, and they were okay. Everything was going to be fine.

Tony's hands tightened. "No one is ever taking you from me again."

Everything was going to be fine.

* * *

 **I'm finally back and - *hides behind computer screen* - and I know it's been ages since I updated. Please don't kill me. I'm sorry, but the holidays always stress me out, and school is kicking my ass and ugh, I have so many excuses and I'm sorry…**

 **Are you mad?**

 **Taila xx**


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